The Quarterdeck Breed
by Michael D. Garcia
Summary: Series/Short Stories: Exercises in Leadership within Starfleet, a collection of short stories dealing with various situations. Reviews welcomed.
1. Foreword

**STAR TREK  
The Quarterdeck Breed  
By Michael D. Garcia**

Disclaimer

STAR TREK(R) and all related trademarks and copyrights used by this game are the property of Paramount Pictures Corporation. This work of fanfiction is intended for non - profit and entertainment purposes only and is in no way assuming intellectual property for any previously registered trademarks and copyrights. This disclaimer is pursuant to US Copyright Law (Chapter 1, Section 107 and Chapter 1, Section 117). The following is a derivative work that is my only claimant. Thank you for not suing me! :)

**Foreword**

    After I completed the January McKenna series, I found myself with an inordinate amount of time to devote to another long-term project. While I did have some ideas about continuing to write in the alternate universe, I had grown to miss writing about the canon universe and exploring the lesser-seen areas of the show. I think it goes without saying that I truly enjoy filling in the blanks with my imagination as to the other services within Starfleet. Our attention at the beginning of the saga is focused solely on the starship Enterprise and her crew, and during the years of The Next Generation, I often tried to explore what it would be like to serve with a different set of officers and crew, aboard another ship of the same class. With the assistance of a close friend, I ended up writing the first five stories about an officer in command of the Galaxy-class starship USS Farragut. In turn, I began writing about her son, a cadet in Starfleet, and what his career would be like.  
    But, as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself. As I was saying, I needed a new project to take up the slack in my free time. Rather than attempting to write another novella, I decided to try my hand at writing character sketches. However, since I had done that pretty effectively in the past, and I enjoyed doing it, I wanted to try something a little more challenging with sketching out either a character, or an event. This time around, I decided to sketch a little bit of everything: character, event, and milieu. These stories, while sketches in nature, had to have a unifying theme or tie to be able to bring them together as a series. And then, it hit me. Why not write a series of sketches on the different types of leadership I had experienced or could imagine? And the Quarterdeck Breed was born.  
    Each part of the series you're about to read takes a slice of life from a vessel, lettered from A to Z, and tries to illustrate a little bit about the men and women aboard her who serve our fictional fleet. To make it a little more interesting and far more challenging to me, I have randomly selected periods of time with the assistance of a random number generator. Our A-ship may take place after the Dominion War portrayed in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, but the B-ship may take place before Kirk accepted command of NCC-1701. These slices may simply be a glimpse to understand the nature of command or full stories with a definitive climax and denouement. It's a reminder that not all starships will see missions that are fraught with peril or certain doom, but some are just your regular run-of-the-mill mundane duties that keep the Federation going.  
    It's my hope that these exercises are as entertaining to you as they were in writing them out and getting to know a large cast of characters intimately.  



	2. Agamemnon

The Quarterdeck Breed  
By Michael D. Garcia

Part One: _Agamemnon_

NCC-11638 (USS _Agamemnon_)  
Docked at Deep Space Four, near the Romulan Neutral Zone and the Typhon Expanse  
Stardate 53441.4  
Transporter Room One

The shimmering blue column of the transporter beam brought the tall lieutenant commander into focus as he materialized on the transporter pad. He kept his dark brown hair cut short in the back with bangs coming down to cover his forehead just above his brown eyes. With his eyes, he scanned the interior of the transporter room, noticing that the chief petty officer standing behind of the transporter console was an older, short human female with long blonde hair and blue eyes; her hair kept up in a ponytail away from her face. Standing in front of that console was another human female; younger, almost as tall as he, but she allowed her shoulder-length red-brown hair to swing free around her ears. Unlike the non-commissioned officer, she wore the rank of a commissioned lieutenant and the mustard colored turtleneck of the support services portion of Starfleet.

Both women wore a rather odd variation of the gray-on-black Starfleet duty uniform. The chief's uniform top was not the normal jacket like his, but in fact was an unzipped vest. The Starfleet insignia/communicator was pinned to the left strap that ran up to her neck. Meanwhile, the lieutenant was actually wearing a gray jumpsuit with the zipper down around her midsection. To his eyes, they were far from obeying the standard uniform of the day he had become accustomed to. Despite his disapproval, he put his best foot forward with his warmest smile for them.

He stepped down from the transporter pad, satisfied that all of his parts were in good working order. Readjusting his weighty duffel, slung over his left shoulder, he extended his right hand in greeting. "Permission to come aboard, sir?" he said, in a soft tone.

The lieutenant offered a pleasant, but forced, smile, grasping the hand and shaking it firmly. "Uh, permission granted, I guess. Welcome aboard."

"Lieutenant Commander Richard James," he introduced himself unnecessarily.

She was only too aware of him, his rank, and especially his reputation. "Halley Gage," she replied. Tilting her head in the direction of the chief behind the console, she introduced her, "This is Heather Munoz. May I show you to your quarters, so you can have somewhere to put your duffel, Commander?"

Commander James bristled inwardly at her tone. Everything about her was forced; from her smile to the pointed address by rank and not "sir." It was so obvious that before he even materialized, she carried an as yet unexplained dislike for him. The look on the chief's face confirmed that, with her more than casual curiosity at the exchange. The fact that the chief would not even meet his eyes said volumes to him. Keeping things civil, he tried to appear oblivious to Lieutenant Gage's nature. "I would very much appreciate that, Lieutenant, but if you would have someone take this to my quarters, I'd like to report in to the captain."

Gage nodded, "Of course, Commander. If you would just leave your duffel here, I'll see to it it's delivered. Would you care for me to escort you to the bridge?" Her tone was no longer masking her displeasure, making her sound as though being in his presence was taxing her last ounce of strength.

With a sidelong look, James replied, "No, Lieutenant. I think I can find my way, thank you." He did not wait for her to respond, twisting on his heel and making his way out to the corridor. Looking to his right and left, he determined the shortest route to the nearest turbolift and within moments, he was on his way to the bridge.

Unlike the bridge of the Excelsior-class heavy cruiser he had transferred from, the Apollo-class light cruiser _Agamemnon_ enjoyed no ready room on the same deck. In fact, the bridge module installed here looked to be designed with the efficient use of deck space; the captain's chair was only a meter in front of the aft bulkhead, with all of the support stations lining the port and starboard sides. The ship's flight controller had a small half-circular station before the modest viewscreen. Where his former ship lacked in computer stations and consoles, his new assignment made up for. It was pretty obvious that the bridge's design leaned toward tactical operations than exploration duty. His first thought when stepping from the turbolift was about where he would sit during his duty shifts.

"Over here, sir. The executive officer usually has priority seating here at the auxiliary station to the right of the captain's chair," said the male seated at that very console. He had the single pip of an ensign, and he wore the same color turtleneck as James did, that of command. The ensign's eyes were huge, his black pupils seemed to only allow a little bit of the white to show, and his hair was jet black and shaggy; far outside the regulations with regard to personal grooming. Unlike the rest of the ship, however, this ensign wore the same standard duty uniform; the jacket's zipper was even in the upright position.

James approved inwardly, but tried very hard to push that thought aside quickly, as his earlier thought was obviously heard. "You're a Betazoid," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah," he replied with a snicker in his tone. "I'm Rittian Low, your friendly neighborhood hotshot flyboy." He rose from the station, clearing himself off and walked over to greet James. As they clasped hands, Rittian smiled at him, "If you're wondering about the hair, well, the captain likes to keep his bridge informal. You get used to it."

"I'm noticing." James said this with a chuckle. "I was looking for the captain, actually. I wanted to report in and assume my duties."

"You just missed him. Since we're in dock, he doesn't spend much time on the bridge so much as he does in his quarters." Rittian leaned in, "Ships like ours often go years without seeing a starbase like this, so you'll find most of the officers scattered about the ship and the port, relaxing."

The lieutenant commander asked, "You're the officer of the watch, then?"

"To be honest, no. If someone from docking operations calls, it's pretty much whichever officer or non-comm that's up here when the call comes through acts as the OOW." The ensign noticed and felt the new exec bristle at the explanation. He tried to smooth things out by adding quickly and almost stumbling over his own words, "I mean, when we're underway, I stand a watch from time to time, but when we stand in to port, well…" He offered a shrug.

"Indeed." James smiled again. "Tell me, Ensign, about how long have you been assigned to the ship?"

Rittian replied immediately, "This is my first assignment from the Academy, sir. I've been aboard about eight months, now." He asked, "May I ask where you were posted before arriving here?"

James grinned, "I was stationed aboard the _Fearless_."

"Captain Simpson?" asked Rittian, suddenly wide-eyed.

"The very same."

"I've always wanted to serve on an exploration vessel."

This seemed to amused James, "Who doesn't?"

"Most of this crew, actually," the ensign admitted, breaking off eye contact with James to look at the deck. "You'd be surprised how many of them are content to wander the border, sir."

"Is that so?" James asked, in a conversational tone. "I guess I'll be experiencing that wanderlust first hand." He continued on to tell the ensign that he was glad to have met him, but that he needed to report in. "We'll talk later, I'm sure."

Rittian appeared to like James, "Oh, absolutely, sir. I look forward to it."

Suppressing the urge to chuckle at the ensign's enthusiastic tone, he said nothing as he withdrew from the bridge and back into the turbolift. Proceeding downward into the ship's fourth deck, he had a little time to think about the sloppy nature of the crew he had experienced so far. As the ship's executive officer, he would be responsible with the carrying out of the policies of the captain. If the sloppiness stems from above, then he would feel very powerless at trying to bring a sense of order to the chaotic nature that the _Agamemnon_ seemed to become accustomed to.

Arriving at the door to the captain's quarters, Commander James touched the panel to the side to announce his presence and request to enter. There was a drawling tone that consented to his entry, and once within the confines of the captain's quarters, he understood two things upon looking at the room and seeing his captain for the first time.

The cabin was well used and immaculate. This told James that his captain was someone who paid close attention to details. Every personal item within view was stored in an orderly fashion. The collection of old-style books were sorted within a bookcase, and to his amazement, were all in alphabetical order by author. Fresh uniforms, obviously from the station, were neatly folded and stacked by class on top of his bed. The model starships lining the shelf underneath the forward viewport were all secured with thin and transparent pieces of string, but ordered by armament. This impressed James, and he understood then that perhaps things got out of control over the years, but that his new captain was someone he could reason a return to protocol with, and not face resistance.

Master and Commander of the starship _Agamemnon_, Commander Henry Grayum stood before his own reflection in a mirror wearing the standard duty uniform for Starfleet officers, the same uniform worn by James and Rittian. Though his uniform was very new, the officer was a much older gentleman. His blonde hair was giving way to silver in the fight against age, and losing badly. His hairline was receding, bringing it back to the top of his head. Unlike other officers, however, he was not even close to being described as physically fit. The two-piece jacket and pants was kinder to that fact, not drawing too much attention to the already noticeable waist. James decided it was a blessing that they had since stopped wearing the single-piece jumpsuits almost fifteen years ago.

Despite the man's physicality, he believed him to be an officer of a like mind. But to bring order to the ship, he needed to report in. "James, Richard T., Lieutenant Commander, reporting for duty, sir," he said, stepping forward and standing at attention.

Grayum did not turn, not wanting to acknowledge him just yet. His hands were both preoccupied with his uniform jacket, and taking a few moments to look at both shoulders and his back, he asked a single question of James, in a Southern drawl, "Are you here with the Admiral's office, son?" He seemed to not be expecting him at all.

That fact caught James by surprise, stammering a little bit before being able to form a response. "No, sir. I…"

Another voice, this one female, came from the bedroom. She was an enlisted rate; wearing command red and the single curly-Q of a third class petty officer. "No, sir. This is Commander James, remember?" She had a pleasant alto voice, and like the captain, wore a very nice-looking duty uniform. James found her instantly attractive, with her winning smile, and long blonde hair. He did not even care to note that her hair was outside of regulations, reaching near her posterior.

"James?" Grayum still did not seem to understand.

"The new executive officer, Captain," James spoke up, not quite sure of how to handle this. He felt a little slighted by the lack of attention to the schedule.

"Oh!" The captain turned away from the mirror to bring his hand out and his best smile. "Damn, I'm glad to see you here, son. Why don't you have a seat, here, and Missy'll fix you up a cup o' coffee or something."

Missy, James noted, was obviously the name of the petty officer. Her relation to the captain suggested something of a more intimate nature than was probably acceptable. As this was a new posting for him, he decided to bite his tongue until an explanation was offered. No need to step off on the wrong foot. However, the accusatorial glance toward the woman adjusting the captain's uniform made James shift uncomfortably in the chair he seated himself in. He brought his hand up toward the young woman, and smiled at her, "That's all right. I'm fine."

Grayum nodded, "All righty. Fix me a cup, then, Missy. Then go get me the kid's service record on my display."

"Right away," she said, moving off toward the replicator, while Grayum sat down behind his desk and faced James.

"Welcome aboard the _Agamemnon_, son. Henry Grayum," he rose form his seat, realizing he forgot the gentlemanly nicety of shaking hands. "Sorry if I seem a little off my game, but there's this meeting at the port admiral's office, y'see, and I have to get ready for it."

James made an attempt to be sensitive to his captain, his tone concerned, "Sir, if this is a bad time, I can come back later."

"Shit, son, call me Hank. Everyone else does," Hank said, smiling widely at his new exec's dropped jaw. "I had a chance to chat with your old skipper last night about you. He said you're one of his best officers." Missy had returned with the cup and set it on his desk atop a coaster she provided.

"That's very kind of him to say, sir. I had the good fortune of serving under Captain Simpson for three tours of duty," replied James, as Missy pulled up the requested service record for the captain. Three tours of duty equaled over six years of service, which was often the mark of a good ship captain within Starfleet.

"Yeah," Grayum said. "B. J. and I are old friends. We graduated from the Academy and did our first tours together. I know when a CO is bullshittin' me about a person, but if you get Simpson's good word, then that's more than okay with me." Missy disappeared, moving into the captain's bedroom and remaining there.

Inwardly, and with great outward strength preventing the desire to drop his jaw once more, James was shocked. Captain Simpson wore four pips on his collar and commanded a crew of over eight hundred. Hank Grayum, while captain, only wore three pips and appeared to be much older than Simpson. Maybe it was just time not being as kind, but the polar opposite styles of command gave James a great deal to think about. Had he made the wrong choice, here?

Commander Grayum continued, "But what I wanna know is, why would a fireball like yourself want a transfer to a bucket like this?"

The truth was, he had been told that Grayum's mandatory retirement age was only three years away. With time in grade and an exemplary service record, James would find himself promoted to full Commander and holding command of the _Agamemnon_. Deep Space Four's port admiral made that clear to him. While the Border Patrol was not exactly the most prestigious service within Starfleet, it still had the ability to make James look exceptional. As he was told, there were many captains and admirals in Starfleet who boasted a few tours of duty on the border. Officers who can handle themselves at the front lines with distinction were officers worth noting. But in the case of Commander Grayum, it seemed as though he was overlooked. His vessel never seemed to stand out from the others. His reports were mundane and uninteresting. The gossip aboard the station held that he would retire at his current rank. It was this opportunity that encouraged James to send in for the transfer.

"Well, sir, I've served aboard the _Fearless_ for a while, and before that I was on the _Ajax_. I'd really had my fill of exploration duty and I wanted to round out my training with an assignment out here on the border," James lied, trying to prevent the customary blush from appearing on his cheeks.

Grayum gave a succinct nod, "All righty, then. I'd say that the move benefits us both. Welcome aboard the _Agamemnon_, son."

"Thank you, sir." The exec did not know how to tell the man that the constant derogatory use of "son" was beginning to irritate him. Was it better to let it slide and ensure stepping off on the right foot, or would it be better to clear the air now and save himself the trouble of undoing a habit? "One request, I do have, though, sir."

Hank Grayum reiterated, "Call me Hank, son. What's on your mind?"

"Yes… Hank," the younger officer tried on for size. "If you don't mind, suh... er, Hank, I would really appreciate it if you would call me something other than 'son.'"

"Sure thing, Rick. Is Rick okay or do you like Richard, better?"

"Rick is fine… Hank." He bit off the automatic "sir;" it appeared they would both have to make adjustments. "What should I attend to, first?"

"B. J. tells me you're a whiz kid when it comes to paperwork." Grayum leaned forward, "MISSY! Get in here!" He bellowed, scaring James enough to make him jump while seated.

Missy appeared from the bedroom, "Yes, Captain?"

"The ship's paperwork. Pile it up and give it to Rick, here," the captain nodded his head toward James.

"Aye, sir," smiled Missy. She walked across the captain's sitting room and leaned over to retrieve a stack of PADDs sitting within a drawer underneath the model starships. As she did so, James noticed that the captain was most definitely leering at her behind. Disgust and outrage overwhelmed the executive officer, his mouth opening just slightly to express it all. That poor woman, he thought to himself.

She returned with a stack of ten devices, all of them filled to the brink with overdue items of a clerical nature. He looked up at her with an apologetic smile, and she rewarded him with one as well. Seizing the initiative, he asked her, "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce myself to you earlier…"

Grayum interrupted, "Shit, Missy, I'm sorry. I'm being rude. This here is my yeoman, Missy Larson."

Missy smiled, "Missy is a nickname they call me around here. My given name is Melissa. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Commander." Her tone was warm and inviting; he was affected by it immensely.

"Indeed," said Rick. "A pleasure. Thank you for the PADDs."

"I don't believe you'll be thanking me later, sir," she quipped.

"That'll be all, Missy," Grayum said with an annoyed tone.

"Aye, sir," she said. Instead of retreating to the bedroom once more, she headed for the corridor.

Once they were alone, Hank sighed. "She's a damn fine yeoman. She took this tornado I called a cabin and organized it. 'Course, now I have no clue where anything is, but I don't know what I ever did before she came aboard."

"How long has she been your yeoman?"

"Going on six months, now."

James decided to change the subject, looking down at the stack on his lap. "Were you without an executive officer long enough to create a pile like this, uh, Hank?"

"Something like that. I mean, let's face it; we're not a high priority ship like your darling _Fearless_. Our requests for someone with your experience usually fall on a wish list, not a necessity list," said Grayum, his drawl getting a little more pronounced.

"Understandable. Did you appoint an acting first officer?"

"I sure did," replied Grayum, thumping the desk. "Halley Gage did a bang-up job for what was asked of her. She pulled her butch in engineering as well as on the bridge and she came out with flying colors. Gave her a letter for her promotion jacket."

With his eyes moving away from his captain's, he looked at the stack as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. As this information was coming to light, the exchange in the transporter room began to make sense; Gage's attitude was no longer dismissed as being a small part of the whole. She had a personal problem with his presence aboard the ship. "I'm sure she did. However, it would appear to me that she neglected a rather important aspect of the job."

Captain Grayum frowned, his brow furrowing, "Under the circumstances, Rick, I think she did pretty good. I know all that paperwork looks like a lot, but let me tell you something; out here on the border, paperwork don't mean shit. Sure, we got the forms and the reports to do just like everyone else, but the different between a patrol ship and the _Fearless_ is that we're not under that gun to dot and cross every I and T."

James sighed. It was a losing battle he was facing, now. Not to mention that it would be in the poorest health of his assignment to criticize an officer who obviously has the captain's favor. "I think I see what you mean. Now that I'm here to dedicate myself wholly to the job, I'll make sure that all of the ship's paperwork is caught up with Starfleet as soon as I can."

"That's the spirit, Rick!" Grayum thumped his desk once more, to express his enthusiasm.

He smiled in reply, not only because he was amused, but also because it was the only way to express his irritation at the captain's inadvertent patronizing act. James said, "If you don't mind, then, sir…"

"Hank," interrupted the captain.

"Hank," James followed up quickly, realizing his mistake.

"Go on and get out, Rick. I'll be off the ship for a few hours to meet with the port admiral in thirty minutes. Have a look around; make sure you meet the senior staff. I have a feeling that our leave here at the station is going to be cut short."

Lieutenant Commander James stood up from his seat, cradling the stack under his arms in preparation to leave, "Understood, Hank."

* * *

"I think your biggest problem, Gage, is that you've not even given him a chance," said Munoz, looking across to the chief engineer over their respective drinks. They were both seated in the ship's wardroom; the officer's mess. While Munoz and her fellow chiefs had their own designated lounge, as a senior non-commissioned officer, her presence in the officer's sanctuary often went overlooked. 

Halley Gage did not say anything in response, brooding over her mug and keeping her eyes upon the table.

Heather tried another tactic, "I know you wanted that promotion, but you're really good at what you do. No one knows this ship better than you."

"One more reason why I would have made a better first officer," Gage tossed back with a sharp tone.

"Damn it. He hasn't even been here a whole day!" Despite her friendship, Heather's patience was wearing thin. "You're acting like a child."

Gage's eyes narrowed, "Watch it, Chief."

Heather stood up, "Kiss my ass, Lieutenant. When you're done pouting, I'll be in my transporter room."

"Heather, don't go, please," the chief engineer rose from her seat, instantly feeling remorse over driving her away.

Chief Munoz shook her head; "I think you need to be alone with your thoughts, now." She began to move toward the corridor, when the new first officer entered, carrying a stack of PADDs in his arms. Heather twisted on her heel and returned to Halley, "Besides, I think this would be a nice opportunity for you to build a bridge, instead of burning one. See you later."

Once Heather left the wardroom, Gage shot fleeting glances toward James. He took a seat at the other end of the long wardroom table, unknowingly sitting in what would come to be his regular seat at wardroom meetings. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, as he poured through each PADD. After nearly five minutes of glancing at him, her last glance locked eyes with him.

"Something on your mind, Lieutenant?" James tried to start things out on a good note, wearing his most charming smile.

Gage took her time in responding, curbing her immediate response in the negative, followed by an abrupt departure. Instead, she decided that Heather was right. She had not really given the new officer any sort of a chance to earn her respect. "I just wanted to apologize for my demeanor in the transporter room, Commander."

She extended the first olive branch, and he recognized it. "There's nothing that needs apologizing," said Commander James, returning his gaze to the PADD in his hands. "Although, I will admit to being taken a bit off my guard at the utter lack of protocol around here."

"Yeah, well, this isn't the devil-may-care explorer fleet, with all the pretty little uniforms and pristine starships," Gage snorted. "Here in the border patrol, Commander, we find ourselves face-to-face with the leanest and meanest ships. We've fought the Jem'Hadar, the Breen, the Cardassians…"

"In case you haven't noticed, Lieutenant, we wear the same uniform. Just because the war's over, didn't mean that I sprang into existence on that transporter pad back there," James replied. "_Fearless_ was involved in a lot of the same situations that you faced."

"_Fearless_ is an Excelsior-class vessel. Eight hundred in crew, state-of-the-art weaponry…"

"She's sixty years older than the _Agamemnon_," James rolled his eyes, but spoke with a jovial tone. "Sure, she's a little more polished, but she's old. I figure by the time I make captain, they'll probably be scrapping her for parts. But that does not detract from the fact that you have nothing to prove with me."

Halley fell silent, appearing to think over his words. Why was her blood running all of a sudden? What was it about this man that made her feel as though she was threatened? Her self-confidence disappeared and anxiety and insecurity began to overwhelm her. "Once again, I offer my apologies, Commander," she said in a quiet tone.

James looked at her, "I'll consider it, Lieutenant. If you can bring yourself to saying 'sir.'"

"What is your problem?" Gage asked as she stood up suddenly, knocking her chair back. She was no longer able to contain her anger.

"I would recommend that you watch your tone, Lieutenant," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This is the wardroom, Commander. If you want to pull rank over me speaking my mind, you can take it to Hank and see what he says." She challenged him and his authority.

James counted to five in his head, thinking that she was incredibly lucky that they were the only two officers in the wardroom right then. There would have been no other option but to enforce discipline to prevent any damage to his authority. "Lieutenant," he said, as calmly as he could, "I don't really care about how much slack the captain gave you. From here on in, you report directly to me."

"We'll just see about that," she turned to leave.

"Hold it right there, Lieutenant." His voice rang as loudly and as filled with authority as he could muster. James rose from the wardroom table and advanced on the still chief engineer, holding her position just before the exit out into the corridor. "If you go over my head on this, I will be forced to put you on report. I realize that protocol has been pretty non-existent around here, but that's about to change."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Lieutenant Gage, deciding to stand at attention in a mockery of respect toward him.

He nodded approvingly, "Well, your attempt is pretty pitiful, but at least it's a step in the right direction." Commander James let out a long sigh, looking up and then down as he tried to figure out how best to proceed. "I am not here to be anything more than the best executive officer for the _Agamemnon_. I know you carried out those responsibilities in the past, and the captain was very pleased with your willingness to step up and take on the extra duty for the team. As a point of fact, I was actually hoping that you would be willing to help me go over the paperwork so we can get caught up."

"Oh," she replied, giving up her rigid posture to go slack. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she turned around to face him. "I'm sorry about that. It's just that with trying to oversee engineering along with the duties of a first officer, all of the reports and logs sort of fell through the cracks."

"I'm not blaming you," he said instantly, raising both hands. "Starfleet isn't going to send out a firing squad just because you forgot to file an energy consumption report. But all of those loose ends are going to end up tangling us up if they decide to put us through an inspection."

Gage wrinkled her nose, "An inspection?"

James asked with incredulity, "You mean, you've never undergone an inspection?"

"Not in the four years I've been aboard."

"That's… very interesting."

"That's how things are done in the Border Patrol."

He frowned, unable to really make any sort of a comment. "I don't suppose you would accept the reasoning that perhaps an inspection is due, would you?"

She shrugged. "As much as it pains me to say this, you are the executive officer, now. If you want to catch up to a point where you feel comfortable, that's your prerogative." Halley's voice got a little too quiet for him to hear what she mumbled.

"I'm sorry, what was that last?"

"I said," Gage raised her voice, "I will support any new policies you want."

James smiled instantly, but he brought his hand over his mouth and coughed. "I appreciate that, you have no idea." He was silent, moving away and returning to the wardroom table once more. "The first thing we need to start with is the engineering section's requisitions for the past year…"

* * *

Guardian Six, also known as Rear Admiral Elizabeth Davies, looked across her desk at the commanding officer of the _Agamemnon_ as her flag lieutenant laid out the appropriate information to process her query. She was a woman of presence; that is, every room she entered automatically acknowledged her. The very pillar of authority for the Border Patrol service, she was a two-star flag officer who reported directly to the chief of Starfleet Operations on the status of her group. For a captain of a light cruiser to be seated in the same room meant that either he was being reassigned, under review, or about to receive orders of the highest priority. 

Commander Grayum had even more cause to be nervous. While Admiral Davies was enough to make him fidget in his chair, the fact was that he was only two feet away from Deep Space Four's commanding admiral, Rear Admiral (lower half) Edward Porter (Barracks One). His presence there was one of courtesy, as Admiral Porter was the sector commander, as well as the ability to mobilize the entire Ninth Tactical Fleet at a moment's notice. DS4 was located at the juncture between the neutral zone of the Romulan Star Empire and the Typhon Expanse.

This much brass in the same room began to make Hank Grayum very nervous. What had originally been thought to be nothing more than a friendly little chat with Admiral Porter had turned into a briefing. Once the flag lieutenant withdrew to the small anteroom, Guardian Six leaned forward in her chair, bringing her fingers into a Vulcan-like steeple before her. "Commander," she said, her voice cold and harsh, "am I correct in my understanding that the _Agamemnon_ is at full operational status?"

Grayum cleared his throat nervously, "I, uh, yes, sir, that's about right. We can pack up and be anywhere you want us to be."

"May I also further assume that you and your vessel are cleared for X-Ray activities?" Guardian Six asked, wishing to know if his ship and crew were ready to undertake a class two priority assignment, which would require a level of readiness that should be maintained on vessels of the Border Patrol. Alternately, it would also give Grayum the opportunity to decline, if he was simply being prideful and wished to not put his ship or crew at risk.

He nearly leaped out of his chair. This was the opportunity he was waiting for. Despite all outward appearances, he was eager to perform a task worthy of promotion. To be able to retire as a Captain would allow him a higher set of benefits. It had been a long period of service for him, enduring both the Cardassian War and the Dominion War. He was willing to settle for retiring a Commander, but the chance to reach a little further made it just a little bit sweeter. "Absolutely, sir."

Admiral Porter spoke up, immediately following Davies' nod to him. His clipped British accent always made him seem like something of a snob to Grayum. He listened to the admiral as he spoke, "Commander, as you are no doubt aware, certain sects of the Breen Hegemony have ignored the peace accords signed by the Dominion. Starfleet Intelligence has been able to determine with a fair amount of certainty that they have arranged mobile command centers located between the Black Cluster and the Typhon Expanse."

Guardian Six continued the briefing. "We have reassigned elements of the Ninth and Twelfth fleets to augment the patrol ships along this part of the border." She turned her desktop display around to illustrate. The "north" border, which ran from the "west" border of Cardassian territory and Deep Space Nine to the "east" border with the Romulans, had the Black Cluster in the "northwest" corner and the Typhon Expanse in "northeast" corner. Points began to be marked beyond the northern border, each one seemingly equidistant from one another. "Based on the information from Starfleet Intelligence, and on orders from Fleet Admiral Nechayev herself, we are deploying several light cruisers to each of these theorized locations of where each mobile base is. _Agamemnon_ will be deployed to provide information on this command center, which we have designated as Objective Epsilon."

Hank Grayum nodded eagerly, "I see. You want us to go take a look and report back on what we find out?" If that was truly the extent of the mission, then he was assured of that fourth pip and his retirement. In his mind, he was already plotting out the little strip of beach he wanted to buy on Risa, maybe build himself a pier where he could put that little fishing boat he inherited from his great uncle back on Earth. It would not take much trouble to beam it up to a cargo ship, pay them to make the long trip out…

"Not exactly. Each cruiser will be outfitted with a Romulan cloaking device, and each vessel will also be carrying along a Romulan officer to oversee its use and operation. This is one of the stipulations outlined by the defense treaty with the Romulan government," replied Admiral Davies, interrupting his train of thought and bringing him back to the present. "In exchange for the device, we will provide the Romulans with limited Starfleet resources and personnel, along with detailed information about the Breen's current military capabilities."

"Just like with the _Defiant_ and the Gamma Quadrant all those years ago," Grayum noted.

Porter added, "In the same spirit, yes, however unlike the _Defiant_ missions, this time we shall be looking to bring back a little more than basic information."

The captain of the _Agamemnon_ pressed his lips together, having heard all of the bait. It was time to bite down on the hook. "Admirals, would you mind being a little more specific?"

* * *

**First Officer's Log  
****Stardate 53445.22**

**My arrival aboard the _Agamemnon_ two weeks ago has given me a new sense of appreciation for the diversity that Starfleet has to offer. Since being appointed to my duties, I have spent a great deal of time going over the many reports and logs that have been accumulating for over twelve months. With the tremendous assistance of Lieutenant Halley Gage, the ship is now current on its records and libraries of information necessary for the logistics of the Border Patrol service.**

**We've been docked at Starbase 510 for the last seventy-two hours for a complete systems analysis and review, along with some scheduled upgrades. The captain has also advised us that we will be undergoing a limited crew rotation. I must admit to being a little curious, as the service records of the crewmembers transferring aboard have not yet been made available. There is also the concern that the ship's chief tactical officer is retiring, and a replacement has not yet been assigned. A hole in the senior staff may or may not be covered by one of the officers transferring over. As executive officer, I am more than a little dismayed, though if necessary, I can handle those responsibilities in addition to my own until the Bureau of Personnel sees it convenient to provide us with a replacement officer.**

**If the schedule is maintained diligently, the ship should be ready to depart in under six hours.**

**Personal Log of Richard James  
****Stardate 53445.22**

**While I have been appalled and dismayed over the sheer lack of protocol in the past, I think I'm coming to understand why it might be necessary for the crew to drop any sense of formality. However, the captain's demeanor has changed radically over the past week, ever since his meeting with the port admiral. I have not really come to know Captain Grayum to a point where I might be concerned, but the fact is that Halley is voicing her concerns to me privately.**

**That brings me to another topic. In the last week, I feel like my example of protocol has been understood and even emulated. Use of given names has dropped noticeably, but that's probably due to the fact that the captain has also been given to observing a more disciplined bridge lately. I wonder if my presence aboard ship has had that much of an impact in such a short amount of time.**

Though in dock, the executive officer's decision to maintain a standard bridge watch regardless went unopposed by the captain. It was a sign to the rest of the ship that Grayum supported James' decision to slowly reintroduce a higher level of discipline to the officers and crew of the _Agamemnon_. In turn, James also fell in line with the sense of camaraderie among the members of the bridge crew, including the use of many of their first names.

"Halley?"

The chief engineer looked up from her station on the bridge, "Yes, sir?"

"How're we doing?" Commander James leaned over the engineering station, his concern and worry illustrated in his tone.

Halley called up the current status of the systems upgrades. She reported that the engineering teams from the starbase were wrapping up and preparing to return, while voicing her excitement at the same time. "I'm just really eager to see how well these new systems perform. Augmented sensor palettes, ablative armor, upgraded shielding systems, cobalt device packages for the torpedo systems. With all of this new equipment on board, we're going to be on the cutting edge of technology."

He smiled at her enthusiasm and he honestly shared in it, "It's a lot to get done in three days. Has it really been long overdue?"

"You have no idea, sir," she said. Genuinely pleased with herself and the transformation of her ship, she returned her attention to her station.

James returned to his seat, but had very little time to settle in. He rose from the captain's chair as Grayum exited the turbolift not soon after. "Captain on the bridge," he said, out of habit. Under normal circumstances, the captain would fix a look of admonishment upon him and settle down into his chair with a quiet harrumph. His entrance onto the bridge, however, was not a solitary one.

"Ma'am, allow me to introduce my first officer," drawled Grayum to the Romulan woman accompanying him onto the bridge, "Lieutenant Commander Richard James. This here is my chief engineer Lieutenant Halley Gage." He continued to introduce the other members of the bridge crew, including Rittian. When he ran out of officers to introduce, he returned the courtesy on behalf of the Romulan. "This is, uh, khre'Arrain t'Aimne with the Romulan Star Navy."

The khre'Arrain was one of the more attractive specimens of her race. Her jet-black hair trimmed neatly at the edges, framed a very regal and tanned face. She had a set of deep blue eyes that seemed to scrutinize every detail around her. When she made eye contact with the executive officer, he felt his knees weaken and threaten to collapse him to the floor. It was the first time he had met a Romulan woman, though he had gotten to know a couple of male officers during the final push toward Cardassia in the last days of the Dominion war. "I am pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Commander James," she greeted him, bowing respectfully toward him. Her hair fell forward as much as the artificial gravity could manage to hold onto, before she returned to her standing position to greet Halley in the same manner.

"Captain," James looked over to him with a question in his eyes, "may I ask the purpose of the khre'Arrain's visit?"

Grayum's drawl was more pronounced now, as it always did when he was under a great deal of stress. Halley recognized it, but James tried very hard to understand the words he spoke. "khre'Arrain t'Aimne has been kind enough to agree to joining our crew. Her duty station will be tactical."

James was alarmed. That was an unusually high amount of trust being given to this foreign military officer. The tactical systems aboard a Federation station were classified, and to offer them up to her could be a court-martial offense. He sputtered, "C-Captain, that's…"

"By the order of Admiral Davies, Rick," the captain finished, looking at him with a cold glare. He did not wish to be arguing in front of their guest, even if she would be interacting as a subordinate officer. "I know it's unusual…"

"Hank, you can't be serious," Halley spoke up, rising from her station.

"I am not gonna stand here and allow my bridge officers to make me look like a damned fool!" thundered Grayum. "Commander James, see to rustling up a cabin for the khre'Arrain."

The bridge fell silent. In the years that Henry Grayum had commanded the _Agamemnon_, he had never shown his temper before nor had he shown such contempt for his crew being casual with him. Halley was right, James understood now. There was something going on here beyond the obvious that had him in a constant state of agitation.

"Aye, aye, sir," Halley replied, returning her attention to the engineering station and sitting down.

Captain Grayum resided in his seat, after showing t'Aimne to the tactical station. She instantly began to access the controls. Every officer on the bridge had their eyes on her, as she expertly called up commands and diagnostics. He became annoyed, noticing the undue attention, "People, we have an important mission to prepare for. Commander, I want a briefing of the senior officers in one hour. See to it."

James moved his fingers over the console, reserving the conference room on deck two for the briefing. "Aye, sir," he said, having already completed the beginnings of his task. All that was left was to alert each senior officer, though the captain had carried out his own order between Halley, Rittian, and himself. He shot a quick glance toward t'Aimne, trying not to raise the captain's ire once more while also wondering if she would be included in the briefing.

"Captain, Starbase Operations is beaming aboard four classified cargo containers," said Halley.

t'Aimne spoke up immediately, "Captain Grayum, I request permission to oversee the transport and installation of my equipment at this time." She secured her station and rose from the seat to face him as she spoke.

Grayum nodded, "Go ahead. Lieutenant Gage, why don't you go down there with her and lend a hand?"

After the two officers departed the bridge, James approached his captain, waiting by his chair with his hands clasped behind his back. The captain looked up to him, smiling. "Let's go down to the wardroom for a bit, Rick."

* * *

Captain Grayum and First Officer James were already seated in the conference room when the other officers made their appearance for the scheduled briefing. t'Aimne arrived with Halley, entering in and taking an open seat at the opposite end of the conference table from the captain and first officer. Her presence on the ship had already spread rumors and gossip across every deck, but that did not prevent the other members of the senior staff to regard her with a curious or scrutinizing look. 

Halley took her seat opposite James, offering him a friendly smile of acknowledgment until she realized that his expression was frozen, his eyes staring off at nothing of interest. "Rick?" she said in a quiet voice, in an attempt to gain his attention.

He blinked, looking a little disoriented, before turning his gaze toward her. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Grayum cleared his throat, "Let's get this little meeting started. I want you all to know that before we begin, that we're all en route to a point outside Federation territory. Effective immediately, this ship'll be under X-Ray mission procedures." The dramatic effect was exactly as he intended, watching the faces of his officers harden at the news. He felt it was good for the crew to be entrusted with such an important mission after doing nothing but chasing the occasional smuggler or wayward ship for almost two years following the end of the war with the Dominion. The captain looked at the other side of the table and nodded to their guest, "khre'Arrain t'Aimne has been assigned here as a tactical officer courtesy of the Federation-Romulan treaty. She will be here to overseeing all operations regarding our new cloaking device."

Halley did not react; knowing already that the cloaking device was installed and ready to test, while her colleagues ranged in their reactions from muttered outbursts to silent looks of shock. She held her gaze on James, who looked down at the conference table while the captain continued on.

"Due to the fact that the Breen have been kicking up their heels along most of the border between the Cardassian and Romulan empires, Guardian Six has ordered us to head up north and take a look around," he explained. Looking back at the Romulan woman, he asked, "If I'm right in my recollection, your rank is equivalent to a lieutenant commander, correct?"

t'Aimne replied, "That is correct, captain."

"Thought so," he nodded. "All righty. Here's how we play this. As soon as we leave Federation space, we begin testing the cloaking device. Any changes or adjustment we gotta do, we do en route. Halley, that'll be your department."

"Miss t'Aimne and I have already completed the installation, and I've already made some notes on some possible configuration possibilities to work with should the need arise, sir," Halley gave a respectful nod to t'Aimne.

"I realize that my language does not come easily to Terrans," t'Aimne stared back at Halley. She was actually thankful that the chief engineer did not make an attempt to speak her rank. The captain's drawl mangled it and she bristled inwardly every time he tried to roll it around on his tongue. "If you prefer to use your ranking system, please address me as Lieutenant Commander."

James asked, "The literal translation of khre'Arrain is Centurion, is it not?" His pronunciation was slightly accented, but it was the best she had heard so far.

"Not quite, but it is close enough," she replied, her tone did not betray her surprise at his revealed knowledge. She made a mental note to not underestimate him again.

Grayum harrumphed slightly, "We'll stick with Lieutenant Commander, then. Everyone, pass the word to your teams on that. I appreciate you trying to accommodate us, Commander t'Aimne." He used the preference immediately, making a show of it to the rest of the officers so they would understand. At her nod, he continued his briefing by calling up a tactical display of the target region. A path between Starbase 510 and the point marked simply as Epsilon sprang into existence once the map had been drawn. A point above the starbase on the path represented the ship. "Once we're certain the cloak is working, we will use it as soon as we clear Federation space. We will arrive at our objective in fifty-three hours at warp eight."

Halley opened her mouth to make a comment, but closed it immediately. James raised an eyebrow toward her in askance, but she shook her head slightly to dissuade him from calling any attention to her.

"Upon arrival, we will commence surveillance operations on any Breen ships we find, but the one we're looking for is any one ship large enough to be a mobile base," Captain Grayum smiled. "After we provide sufficient information on their technological and fleet strengths, we will provide Starbase 510 with on-site data for an assault." Finished with his briefing, he resumed his seat and looked at the collection of officers for comment.

James spoke up first, looking at Halley, "We'll need a weapons systems checklist for all the new hardware we took on board, as well as a detailed testing schedule to be accomplished by the captain's timetable, Halley." He turned his head to look down the table at Rittian, "Ensign, we're going to be counting on your best, now more than ever. I'd like for you to work with khre'Arrain t'Aimne, when her duties permit, to get a feel of maneuvering the ship while cloaked."

Halley and Rittian both responded in the affirmative as James continued on his mental checklist, "khre'Arrain, as our only tactical officer and based on your obvious familiarity with this stealth technology, I think it would be prudent to have you construct and see to the completion of tactical drills in various situations we may find ourselves in." Smiling, he inclined his head, "I'm sure we'll all be curious to see how we perform to Romulan standards."

t'Aimne replied in an even tone, "That is one way of putting it, Lieutenant Commander."

James let the matter drop. He was sure her natural air of superiority was fighting to be seen and heard. The fact that she maintained such a high degree of control over the racist remarks spoke highly of her disposition. But he knew he was pushing the envelope. Looking back to his captain, he nodded to him, "Nothing else from me, sir."

"All righty. You heard the XO, so let's make sure we follow the plan to the letter. Dismissed," Grayum said. When the room cleared out, Gage and James remained seated in their chairs. The captain looked between the both of them before leaning forward to rest on his elbows on the table. "What's on your minds, kids?"

The lieutenant deferred to the lieutenant commander, tilting her head to indicate so. James nodded his thanks, and turned his chair to face the captain, "Hank, I have some concerns about putting a Romulan at the tactical station."

"I'm not going to go into dramatics over it, Rick. I don't much care for it, either, but orders are orders," said Hank. He inhaled and exhaled loudly, "If it'll set your mind at ease, then why don't you take her in hand, make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."

Halley offered, "I don't think you'll have much to worry about. She seems pretty nice on a personal level. I'll admit at first, I had reservations, but working with her in installing the cloaking device and the other… equipment…"

James inquired, very curious about that, "What other equipment?"

She looked at Grayum hesitantly.

The captain sighed, "Might as well tell him."

"With all due respect, Hank, I think I'm entitled to know," said James in a more annoyed tone than her would have liked.

"I will let you know what I think you're entitled to, Commander," snapped Grayum quickly.

Halley dropped her eyes to the table as James flinched. Despite that, he didn't let up, "What is going on here, Captain?" There was more here than a high priority mission, James knew by the way the captain was acting.

Grayum pushed away from the conference table, walking toward the viewscreen with his arms folded across his chest. "Have things changed that much? Have I really become as big an asshole as I think I have?"

Replying first, Gage rose from her chair, but made no move toward her captain, "Hank, we care about you. You know that. We're concerned."

"Ah, Halley," chuckled Hank. "You always did find a way to sidestep a direct question. I guess you wouldn't like to answer any more than I wanna hear it. But listen," he turned around to face his two officers, "the fact is that I'm getting' to be too damn old for this job. I've been talking about retiring my commission within the next couple of years. The admiral is throwing me an opportunity to prove myself worthy of a fourth pip. If I can get it, retirement on a captain's pension is much better than a commander's."

It all fell into place for Halley. Sure, the old man had been talking about retiring, but that was never taken as anything more than a dream out of reach. All skippers talk about retiring on some pleasure planet somewhere, with a boat of their own and a pretty woman (or two) to keep them company. But his recent behavior, the change in his mannerisms, even the rise in discipline made sense to her. He was not simply backing James' seemingly unyielding sense of protocol; he was trying to make sure that everything went by the book, so to speak, to maximize their chances of success. When the shock subsided, she was left with the sense of loss over his decision to leave the ship. She would miss him greatly.

James allowed the silence to drag on, before he decided to move onto the business at hand. "What other equipment did she have, Halley?"

She broke out of her own train of thought to return to the present long enough to answer the question. Halley described several buoys and probes, all modified with cloaking devices and all of them appearing to be primarily used for various ranges of surveillance missions. "There were also four smaller crates, marked for Commander t'Aimne's personal use. All of them were locked with a voiceprint verification system."

Grayum leaned against the back of his chair, while in a mock accusatorial tone he asked, "You were snooping around her stuff?"

"Of course not. She explained how they worked when we opened up the cargo containers," Halley replied, a little offended. "You make me out to be some kind of a sneak. Anyway, she told me that it was mostly just clothing, some personal food items, and other perishables."

James absorbed that, nodding. He looked to Grayum, "One thing I think we do need to determine, Hank, is where our new friend fits into our ragtag group."

"How do you mean?" Grayum asked.

"Is she going to assume a link in the chain of command?"

The captain brought his hand up to scratch at an itch on his cheek. "I know it's a little strange to have a foreigner sitting in a position where she might be called upon to command, but I don't see any way around it. As far as I'm concerned, she'll sit as our Number Two."

"Second Officer?" James whispered, not trusting his voice to keep from screaming.

"Hank!" Halley blurted it out at the same time, clearly distressed with that decision.

A small bit of Grayum's temper made an appearance once more, "Knock it off, both of you. She's a light commander, and she's a key officer." He looked at Gage, "I'm not saying that you need to start calling her 'sir,' or anything like that. Just that if anything happens to me or Rick, you know who's next. So far, she seems to be taking her cues from us and you, Halley, so I wouldn't worry about a power struggle or a mutiny. One Romulan against the whole ship doesn't make for very good odds."

* * *

**Chief Engineer's Log  
****Stardate 53445.5**

**The cloaking device is now operating in concert with the ship's defense subsystems, after almost forty-eight hours of double shifts to accomplish that goal. I'm looking forward to seeing the shift end logs tonight, as we're already on route to our destination under cloak. **

**I would like to commend my staff for rising to the challenge. Lieutenant Commander t'Aimne's expertise and assistance in the procedure was invaluable.**

**Personal Log of Halley Gage  
****Stardate 53445.51**

**Commander t'Aimne didn't exactly make a whole lot of friends when she first arrived, though I think I noticed that Rick James seemed pretty taken with her then. Who knew he knew a little Romulan? I think he puts her off her guard a little. Recently, they seem to grate on each other. **

**The time in Engineering she put in turned me around as far as she was concerned. Forget everything you've heard about Romulans and their stuffy attitudes when dealing with her and you might do just fine. She comes across as genuinely interested in us, instead of treating us like we're not good enough to breathe the same air. She got to know Heather really well; I saw them exchanging anecdotes in the wardroom during a break in the shifts. Even though she scored points with the engineers, she still has the rest of the ship to contend with. I hope she'll continue to prove to be as charming. I just wish I knew where all that charm went whenever Rick walks into the room.**

"It's not that I don't like her. She just rubs me the wrong way," admitted Commander James, seated within the captain's stateroom. The stars outside of the forward viewport were distorted by the effect of subspace, and immediately below those large ports was the captain's reception area, consisting of a couch and five chairs around a coffee table.

Grayum was stretched out across the couch, his hands steepled over his stomach as he listened to James' explanation. "Like it or not, Rick, she's here on orders. Truth be told, I'm damned pleased about the cloaking device, but not so much about this exchange program."

Missy seized that moment to enter from the bedroom and into the reception area. James sensed she was doing more back there than arranging the captain's clothing for him. After having served almost three weeks aboard the _Agamemnon_, the executive officer quickly learned to turn a blind eye to any sort of action that might insinuate anything inappropriate. Even if they were engaging in an activity that might cause rumor and gossip aboard ship, they were both consenting adults and knew how to handle themselves. Besides, James thought, the captain was kept in a good temperament. Such a temperament was foreign aboard his old ship.

"May I offer you a cup of coffee, Commander?" Missy asked, with a very warm smile.

Rick did the same thing he always did when she would look him in the eye and offered something to drink. "Double sweet, please," he replied. The captain took his coffee without any alteration or additives. He leaned back into the comfortable chair and agreed with Grayum, "Regardless of how we feel, I would say that she is fitting in nicely with the engineering crew. And she's earned the respect of the security division so far. However, the notion of her sitting as second officer just doesn't sit well with me. Ah, thank you, Missy." He accepted the cup and saucer from the captain's yeoman.

Captain Grayum sat up, to sip at his coffee set before him. "You're a good woman, Missy. Thank you, and I'll see you later." It was his way of telling her to be somewhere else for a while, without coming across as rude to her. Of course, there was very little that anyone supposed would upset Missy to a point where she would lose that smile of hers. Once she departed the stateroom, he continued the conversation, "Let me ask you another direct question. You think she's a threat to the chain of command?"

It was direct enough of a question to give Rick pause before responding. Did he honestly feel that she was threat to their leadership? And if so, what could they do about it? It was only a suspicion, not any proof that she was conducting herself contrary to what was expected of her. She happened to be a Romulan officer aboard a Federation ship, acting with authority as though her commission came from the Federation Council instead of the Romulan Senate. What damage could she do to the ship before he could act to prevent her? He tried to reason within himself the kind of answer that the captain deserved. It was a yes or no question and he was waiting for either. At last, he lowered his eyes to his coffee and responded. "I don't know."

"That makes two of us," admitted Hank. "But you do think she bears some watching, right?"

"Of course, sir. That goes without saying, and it's something she would probably expect."

This drew a scrutinizing stare from Hank. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you… where in the hell did you learn to speak Romulan?"

Rick nearly inhaled his coffee rather than drinking it. It was the manner of the question, the jovial tone of the captain's voice, as though perhaps he himself were a Romulan spy aboard Hank's ship. And it was true, not a single soul aboard knew as much as the executive officer when it came to the language and the customs of the Romulans. But that was easily explained. "I don't speak it fluently. I just know a few choices phrases and the ranks of the Galae. Uh, that's what they call their main military fleet. Back on the _Fearless_, during the war, we had two Rihannsu officers serving as liaisons to the Romulan attack wing we were assigned to. I got to know both of them fairly well. Add to that a natural ear for languages, and well, you'll end up picking up a lot of the words. Amazingly enough, they were willing to teach."

"No kidding," remarked the captain. "I've met some Romulans in my time, and every single one always seemed to look at you as though you were something they scraped off their boot."

"Same here. And for a while, that was how it seemed at the very beginning of their stay with us. Both of them wouldn't look at you to spit on you," Rick reminisced, looking toward the stars again. "After the first couple of engagements, though, they started to loosen up. The senior officer was a khre'Arrain, and the junior was an Arrain; a lieutenant commander and a lieutenant, respectively."

Hank chuckled, "Well, if you don't mind an amateur opinion, but I think you picked up the dialect enough to scare poor t'Aimne."

Rick nodded, remembering that scene in the conference room. "Speaking of which, she's royalty. Or at least, in her house, she is. The t' prefix is significant. She would be a Lady of the House of Aimne, if I'm recalling the naming structure correctly."

"She sure doesn't act like royalty."

* * *

Chief Munoz, Ensign Low, Lieutenant Gage, and khre'Arrain t'Aimne sat in the wardroom surrounding a curious looking dish of food. Around them stood many other officers looking on in interest at the dish, and to see if Heather, Rittian, or Halley would be brave enough to sample t'Aimne's offering. 

Rittian asked, "What's this called again?"

"Viinerine," replied t'Aimne in a proud tone. "It's a traditional dish, often shared by officers serving on a Rihannsu ship. The strips are made from a root grown near the Fethraie River on my home world, and seasoned with a mixture of tangy spices."

"I didn't know that you programmed the replicators to make Romulan dishes," Halley said.

"This isn't replicated matter, Lieutenant," the khre'Arrain looked at her. "It would be an offense to offer replicated viinerine to the compliment of officers."

Heather blinked, her tone incredulous, "Are you trying to tell us that you made this by hand?"

t'Aimne said in a matter-of-fact tone, "To do otherwise would risk insult."

Rittian made a gesture with his head, reaching over to poke at one of the strips with a fork. "If you don't mind, I'll just go ahead and take a taste."

His hand never made it, arrested by t'Aimne's. "Ensign. Lieutenant Gage is the senior officer present. She has the honor of being first."

Halley's expression was one of astonishment at the way t'Aimne grabbed Rittian's hand. "Whoa, hey, wait a minute. I don't know how things go on board Romulan ships, but here we just serve ourselves."

Righting her stance, t'Aimne released Rittian's hand, "My apologies to you, Ensign. A misunderstanding, of course."

Rittian looked at his hand, rubbing at his wrist, "You have a very strong hand, Commander."

Halley smirked, "That's what you get for having no manners." She was trying to diffuse what was obviously a culture clash. "All jokes aside, we definitely appreciate the gesture. And now, I'll do the honors." Looking down at the dish, she realized that she was not learned in how to serve herself. Rather than risking further misunderstandings, she asked, "Why don't you just put it in the plate for me?"

"Of course," t'Aimne nodded. She took a large flipper-like utensil and sliced a long strip from the whole, and without breaking it, places it gingerly upon the plate proffered by Halley. Heather and Ritter both hold up their plates and she repeats her motion until all three officers have a portion of the viinerine in front of them.

"Here goes," said Halley. She took a medium-sized bite from the piece and placed it into her mouth. To her right and left, the transporter chief and the helmsman followed suit. Unfortunately, the bite never passed any further than her tongue. Coughing, she spit the piece back out into her hand before waving at her mouth and requesting something to drink in an immediate fashion. t'Aimne's nonplussed expression became one of concern, turning around to fetch a glass of water from the replicator.

"Are you all right?" asked Rittian, as Halley drained her glass.

Nodding her head while trying to put out the flames, she finally gasped for air and said, "I'll be all right. I think those Romulan spices were not meant for us mortals."

Chief Munoz, on the other hand, was finishing up her plate. "It's not that hot, Gage. My Papa makes some meaner dishes than this," she held her plate out for more. "But it tastes great, Commander. Mind if I have another dish?"

"Yellow alert," called the computer in its feminine tones. "Yellow alert. This is not a drill."

Everything was left as it was as every officer filed out of the wardroom and reported to their respective stations. Captain Grayum and Commander James were already at their duty stations when Halley, Rittian, and t'Aimne stepped onto the bridge.

To the left of the captain at the auxiliary console, James explained, "A Breen frigate appeared on sensors. We've altered our course to pursue."

Halley examined her station from over the shoulder of the ensign manning the engineering console. "Cloaking device functioning with normal parameters," she said, as she gave the junior officer a chance to log out of the station to allow her to use it.

"Weapons systems powered," t'Aimne reported, settling in at tactical.

Grayum acknowledged Ensign Low with a brief nod as he relieved the officer at the helm console, and logged in to switch over to his helm and navigational display configuration. "Let's keep our distance, Ensign," the captain ordered.

"Presently maintaining a distance of three hundred thousand kilometers at our present speed of warp seven. If he alters course unexpectedly, we won't have much time to react, but I'll do what I can," Rittian replied.

"Does our current trajectory take us anywhere near Epsilon?" asked James in a curious tone.

His fingers flew over the console as he plotted various courses for comparison. "We're traveling in the general direction of Epsilon, sir," Ensign Low turned his head toward James to answer his question.

"How general are we talking?" asked Grayum.

"The difference is approximately two-point-nine light years, if we remain on our present course."

James offered to his captain, "Close enough."

"My gut's telling me that may not be what it's cracked up to be," Hank replied. "If this turns out to be a wild goose chase, at least we won't be too far off the beaten path. Maintain pursuit for now. This guy could be on a patrol or something."

"Aye, sir." Commander James pulled up sensor information on his console, looking for anything out of the ordinary. "Are we sure this is a member of the faction we're after?"

t'Aimne replied, "This ship's passive sensor package does not provide enough information on the frigate to make that determination. Switching to active sensors would reveal our presence."

A alarm began to sound at the helm, to which Rittian reported, "They're accelerating, their speed is now warp eight."

Grayum responded, "Wait until we've got another three hundred thousand kilometers between us and then match speed."

"Stand by, sir," the ensign replied, keeping an eye on the distance readout. "Target distance achieved, we are now matching their acceleration curve."

"Call out your speed, Ensign," ordered James.

"Aye, sir. Now at warp eight-point-five," Rittian answered, keeping his eyes on the helm display before him.

t'Aimne reported from the tactical position, "Cloaking device efficiency is decreasing as we continue to match their acceleration, Captain. If we increase speed to warp nine, I cannot give any assurances as to the device's…"

Rittian called out, "We are now at warp nine and holding. He's up to something, Captain."

"On screen," said Grayum.

The viewscreen blinked once to show the Breen frigate turning slightly, the bow of the ship angling from port to starboard in a very slight movement, but not so slight as to go undetected by the naked eye. Suddenly, the ship angled sharply and fired a single blue beam toward the _Agamemnon_. When the beam struck the ship, the cloaking device's field was penetrated. They had been discovered.

James held on to the auxiliary console as the ship suffered a direct hit to the hull. To his far left, Gage was redirecting damage control teams to the proper areas with multiple keystrokes on her console. t'Aimne looked to Grayum immediately for orders while Rittian was holding to evade any further strikes against the ship.

A series of orders came out of Grayum's mouth, his lips curled up in a snarl, "Damage report! Disengage the cloaking device and bring us about to an attack posture. Raise the shields and sound battlestations. Halley, can you jam his communications? We don't want anyone crashing our little party, here."

Rittian responded first, "Bringing us about, sir." The viewscreen showed the stars blur slightly as the ship responded to the ensign's commands.

Gage shook her head, "Hank, they're putting out enough interference to make communication impossible. That hit was a low-level particle beam, so it did superficial damage only. Minor damage to the outer hull and superstructure points on decks two and three, sections four through six."

"Shield grid online and functioning," reported t'Aimne, as the red alert indicator began to blink and the alert siren wailed.

"They were knocking on our door, to see if we were there," James muttered to no one in particular. He looked at Halley, "What kind of interference?"

"Enemy vessel has acquired a weapons lock and is targeting our warp core." t'Aimne said, switching from passive sensors to the more powerful active array. Not only did she get the information she wanted about their ship, but the Breen knew exactly what she knew as well. "Request permission to destroy."

Grayum shook his head, "Lock weapons, but target their communications and propulsion systems."

With the results of her scans on her display, Halley shook her head in an expression of confusion, "I can't identify the type of interference. It looked like a basic electromagnetic disruption pattern, but it's spanning the entire EM band, rather than a portion of it. The good news is that they can't call for help, but then again, neither can we."

"Resetting targets to communications and propulsion only, Captain. May I open fire?" t'Aimne did not look up form her console to speak to Grayum.

The captain nodded his consent. "Fire at will, Commander."

Commander James rose from his seat, "Hank, it sounds like they're on the same mission as we are."

"Incoming fire," warned t'Aimne. The ship rocked slightly, but not as violently as before. "Shields are holding at ninety-seven percent. Returning fire." The beams from the ship lanced out at the frigate, scoring hits across their shields.

"Minimal damage to the forward shield generators, no other reports of damage," reported Gage, checking the _Agamemnon_'s damage control display quickly.

Rittian looked over his console, "They're swinging around for another pass, sir."

"They've suffered a loss in power output to their forward shields," scanned t'Aimne. With the active sensors back in use, she could scan the Breen a lot more effectively than before. "Captain, they are no match for this ship," she determined after having run a tactical analysis.

"How's that?" Grayum asked. It was pretty unusual for him to hear that kind of information. In his previous encounters with the Breen, they had always held the upper hand.

"While they hold the advantage in maneuverability, we possess the advantage in offensive and defensive capabilities." t'Aimne programmed a new firing pattern that fit her recent report. "Once they return within weapons range, I am confident that they will be disabled. Do you wish to take prisoners?"

"No. Just destroy their capability to send out a distress call or maneuver."

"Understood, sir."

The captain watched and waited in his chair, looking at the viewscreen intently. As the frigate completed its turn and brought its bow to bear on the light cruiser, it sped up to close the distance quickly. But as t'Aimne had said, they had the upper hand in weapons. Moments after passing within weapons range, she had effectively tore through their shields with a rapid pattern of visibly destructive phaser fire. Small explosions erupted across the surface of the nacelles, and on the exterior transceiver array. It was like watching a surgeon at work, as the beams were handled with such precision.

"All targets destroyed, with a point-seven-seven-eight percent margin of error," reported t'Aimne, who rested her hands at her sides, as though she had finished playing a piano concerto.

James stared at her from his station, his mouth open in astonishment. "Point-seven…" he trailed off. "That was outstanding work, khre'Arrain."

Grayum rose from his chair, not wanting to give t'Aimne too much of an ego. "Uh, yeah, Commander, good work." He turned to look back at the disabled frigate. "Lock a tractor beam onto them and prepare to tow at full impulse."

* * *

**Captain's Log  
****Stardate 53446.9**

**Commander t'Aimne pretty handily disabled the Breen frigate encountered en route. Without comms or propulsion, it's pretty likely they won't be sounding any alarms for a while. We towed it at full impulse power, and released it on a trajectory that will take it into Federation space. The starship _Bozeman_ will be waiting to intercept it and take it into custody for towing to Starbase 510.**

**We're back on course for Epsilon, at warp eight. Ensign Low reports our ETA to be under seven hours.**

**Captain's Personal Log  
****Stardate 53446.91**

**I couldn't help myself and pulled up the pictures of the strip of beach that Mister Falcot transmitted before we embarked on our mission. There's room for that fishing pier I want, and the depth surrounding the beach drops off enough for that boat I inherited from my uncle. Falcot assures me that the oceans there are populated with enough fish to catch without worry. Of course, the real reason to fish isn't simply to catch anything. It's an excuse to enjoy the view with a cool drink at your side. And on Risa, it's possible to add a sexy woman to that mix.**

**As for the ship, this whole business of having a Romulan officer is going a little better with the others than it is with me. Even though I have to accept her being here on orders from Guardian Six, I don't have to like it. I thought Rick would be on my side about this whole affair but after the stunt she pulled on the bridge, she scored a lot of points with the bridge crew. I'll admit she's good, but as soon as this mission is over, she will be the next CO's problem, not mine.**

"Now arriving at designated point Epsilon," called Rittian, looking down at his console and rereading the distance readouts once more. "Sensors not picking up any ships or bases in the area."

t'Aimne reported, from behind Grayum, "Confirmed."

"No surprise, there," said the captain. "Rittian, take us along the prearranged course. Warp two."

"Aye, sir. Engaging course Epsilon-variation-one at warp two." The helmsman entered in the commands to the ship's navigation system, watching the new trajectory appear on his display. The ship's nacelles powered up as they were supposed to and created the subspace field around the ship. "Warp two achieved. Estimated time of arrival at point Epsilon Two is fifteen minutes."

James ordered, "khre'Arrain, you may commence dropping your buoys."

"Understood, Lieutenant Commander." t'Aimne's console sounded as each buoy found its way from the aft torpedo tube into space. "Buoy alpha-one released. Cloaking device functioning within normal parameters. Telemetry is transmitting and being received."

Four more times, each course, until the Epsilon point was surrounded on all sides by cloaked sensor buoys, that would feed vital telemetry on the sector while _Agamemnon_ hid some distance away at the fleet rendezvous point. Once the telemetry frequencies were transferred to the flagship of the task force, the _Agamemnon_ would remain on station to act as a relay point in case reinforcements were required. If it was determined that the battle was going well, they would be relieved on station by another cruiser and sent back to Starbase 510 to stand down.

When the last buoy went online and began broadcasting what it saw, t'Aimne activated another command, and the sector lit up like a large floodlight had been aimed within the cube formed by the buoys. It was a tachyon net, to prevent cloaked vessels from passing through the sector undetected. The main viewscreen interpreted the tachyon net appropriately and increased sensor resolution on screen, making it appear as though the sector had been illuminated. Every cubic meter of the sector was accounted for, catalogued, and tracked by the ship's computer from the information provided. Once the sector showed activity by the Breen, the task force hidden at the rendezvous point would advance without warning on the Breen command center and the accompanying enemy fleet.

Grayum waited for t'Aimne to report that the grid was online and functioning before he turned back to Rittian, "Plot us a course for the rendezvous point, warp eight. Rick, stand ready to signal the fleet that the trap has been placed once we're safely out of detection range of the sector."

Rittian laid in the new course and took the ship away at high warp, reporting that it would take them twenty minutes to reach the point where they could safely transmit and await the main fleet. The captain acknowledged the helmsman, settling into the center seat as comfortably as possible.

The mission was all but over, now, barring any further obstacles. Hank Grayum felt a sense of pride in his ship and his crew, for pulling together and carrying out their duties above and beyond what he had generally come to expect. He began to think about who would replace him, once he earned that promotion to Captain and retired from Starfleet. Would they allow Rick to carry on as captain? He had the time in grade as a lieutenant commander and the outstanding service record with glowing recommendations. But was Border Patrol really what Rick wanted to do? He made an outstanding executive officer; he had come to rely on the man for a great deal more than he had with Halley. Halley was a good officer, but she needed more time to mature as a leader. She did well in engineering, but he had to admit that she did lack a great deal when she acted as his executive officer.

He made a mental note to write his recommendation for Rick to assume command as he watched the stars stretch by his ship. As much as he would like to believe that his name carried prestige with the Admiralty, his recommendation was only a part of the process in appointing a new commanding officer.

Once the ship entered the star system where the task force would arrive, his executive officer took care of the rest automatically. Grayum watched them work around him, stealing a glance at Rittian as he repositioned the ship to a standard orbit. He craned his neck around to look at Halley as she reported the status of repairs to Rick. t'Aimne remained at her position, vigilantly watching the sensors for any unusual activity. He did not say a word to interfere or encourage the duties of his bridge crew. Satisfied that he had burned the memory into his mind, he returned his gaze to the main viewscreen.

Commander Henry Grayum relaxed in his chair and enjoyed the view from the bridge of the _Agamemnon_.

* * *

**Second Officer's Log  
****Stardate 53448**

**The result of the mission to provide intelligence on the splinter Breen faction proved to be a success for both the Rihannsu and the Federation. The task force's assault on the Breen fleet exceeded expectations, I am told. As such, the _Agamemnon_ has returned to Starbase 510 for standard crew rotation and the appointment of the new commanding officer as Captain Grayum has retired his Starfleet commission. **

**I am awaiting a response from the Rihannsu government as to my next assignment.**

Halley could not believe it; Captain Henry Grayum was no longer the master and commander of the starship _Agamemnon_. In the five years she had been with Starfleet, four of them were with the Border Patrol. She loved the ship, but she cared deeply for those she served with. They were what made being aboard and patrolling the long borders worthwhile. Even Rick James had grown on her; she had even felt a small bit of attraction toward his attitude. But Hank was like that fun uncle in the family; she felt like she was his favorite niece. He looked good, though, she thought. He finally got to wear those four silver pips on his uniform, and Admiral Davies even wrote him a letter of commendation for his service record.

When the news came down about the promotion, she organized a large celebration in every free bit of space she could find aboard ship. The Starbase offered its massive facilities, but this was a party that needed to happen within the confines of the ship they called home. It was a loud and joyous occasion with lots of drinking and singing. Rick arranged through the port admiral to have the local jazz band play on one of the empty cargo decks for dancing that lasted through the night and into the next morning. Heather introduced Rittian to the taste of Romulan Ale, courtesy of t'Aimne. Hank and Missy danced and enjoyed themselves.

Near what seemed to be the end of the party, Hank announced that he decided to retire his commission. Immediately following that announcement, he turned around and dropped to one knee to propose marriage to Missy, which confirmed a lot of the rumors but shocked a great number of the crew. Her acceptance brought the house down, and the party appeared to be reenergized for another six hours.

Outwardly, Halley gave the impression that she was having fun along with the rest of the crew. However, when the band grew tired and had to leave and the crowd began finding themselves in their quarters, or in some cases, others' quarters to continue the party privately, she found a seat on the cargo deck and looked wistfully at the deck. Rick found her there, by herself, and pulled a chair up next to her.

"When I was first assigned here," he said without preamble, "I thought that this was the most disheveled and slovenly looking ship I had ever seen in the eleven years I've served. I thought that Hank was a poor captain, and that you were a vindictive bitch."

Gage looked up at him, unsure of where he was going with the conversation, "You sure know how to cheer a girl up."

He grinned with amusement at her expression, "That was then. Then, I was transferred here to get to know the ship so that when Hank was forced to retire in three years, I would step in to command her. Ambition drove me to accept this assignment, but now I see that the way things are around here are that way for a reason. It's not about commanding or being a leader straight out of Command College; it's about the people who serve alongside you. On the _Fearless_, I think a lot of the leadership involved a healthy amount of intimidation rather than respect."

"You're just learning this now?" Halley replied, her tone indicating her annoyance.

Rick dropped his smile for a moment, "Sometimes, the lessons don't come as easily to those who did not have the opportunity to learn it from the start. Had I been here for eleven years, I think we would at least be friends."

She sputtered, not realizing that he felt that way, "I thought we _were_ friends."

He shrugged. "I thought we were just getting along a little better, but you still hold me in contempt from time to time." He made a gesture with his hand, to indicate that he meant just then. "We don't have to be friends to work together, Halley, but maybe if you would let go of whatever it is you're hanging onto, you might find that I'm an okay guy."

Halley stood up from her seat, her emotions already stirred up about Hank's departure, she did not feel she was ready to be raked over the coals for Rick. "I'll take it under advisement, Commander." She made a motion to begin walking for the door.

Rick reached out and grabbed her wrist, a move very uncharacteristic for him. "Hold on a second, Lieutenant. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I came down here with the intention of saying something a little less tactless. I'm sorry."

"Let go of me," she said, her voice only slightly above a whisper and her tone weak and weary.

"Will you sit down?" he asked.

She returned to her seat, looking at him with expectant and glaring eyes.

He sighed, trying to think of the best way to say what he wanted to say. "It wasn't my intention to pour salt into the wound, Halley, really. What I wanted to say was that even though I felt that way when I first got here, after working with all of you for nearly a month, I've come to understand and appreciate the way you all handle yourselves." He offered a small smile, "Even though I still think you guys could use a little more attention to protocol from time to time."

She felt disarmed by his words, relaxing a little more in her chair. "It probably didn't help matters that I thought you were stealing my job from me. But I have to say that I think you make a better first officer than I did."

"It's hard to pull double duty, Halley, don't be so hard on yourself. Besides, if you were the new first officer, who would they get to keep this ship from flying apart at the seams every time we jumped to warp?" smirked Rick.

"Whomever it would be, they'd have a really hard time serving under me," she said quietly. She liked being an engineer, and she understood then that the only reason behind her wish to be the executive officer was only to be there for Hank. She tried to imagine herself being the executive officer on any ship other than the _Agamemnon_ and failed. With Hank leaving, Rick would be acting captain by default. And that meant that, "t'Aimne will be the acting XO, right?"

"I don't know," admitted Rick, folding his arms across his chest and slouching in his chair while looking over the mess left behind on the cargo deck. "I guess that depends on whether or not she's staying aboard or going back to the Galae. Without the cloaking device, there's really no reason for her to be here, unless she wants to."

* * *

**Personal Log of Nuhir t'Aimne  
****Stardate 53448.5**

_**Recorded under security lockout t'Aimne-Gamma-hwi-rhi-the-mne. **_

**I have received my response from erei'Enriov tr'Khnialmnae with respect to my request for an extension of my assignment aboard _Agamemnon_. He assures me that the recommendations received by the Galae from Starfleet were posted to my file, and based on the permission to continue my service from the Tal Shiar, my request for an extended assignment has been approved.**

**In the short time that I have come to serve aboard this vessel, I have also come to understand my former enemy. Perhaps, with time, more of my people will understand as much as I have, and instead of fearing the threat, would embrace the genuine friendship. I don't forsee that happening anytime soon, but I would like to believe that my presence here would help promote that. And if not, then it's possible that my information would assist my people if we should find ourselves in arms against the Federation again.**


	3. Bellerophon

**The Quarterdeck Breed  
By Michael D. Garcia**

**Part Two: _Bellerophon_**

NCC-74705 (USS _Bellerophon_)  
En route to Starbase 375, near the Romulan Neutral Zone  
Main Bridge  
Condition Green

Biting his lower lip, he seemed to slouch into the captain's chair more than usual this time. To his left, his executive officer peered at him with a disapproving glare. Instead of correcting his actions, her eyes made him want to crawl underneath the chair and hide. Even he could not go that far, no matter what he wanted to do. He was the captain of the Intrepid-class _Bellerophon_ and it would only hurt his crew more if he were to act exactly as he felt. He knew it was not courage that prevented his fear from taking over; it was simply the fear that his executive officer would find him later and give him an earful.

The executive officer shook her head in visible disgust. Rather than putting up any more of his ineptitude, she pressed forward with her duties, "Helm, report our position and estimated time of arrival to Starbase 375."

"One moment, sir," the helmsman tried not to chuckle at her. She was right; the captain really had no place sitting there. Touching his fingers to the helm console, he called up the requested information and replied, "We are heading along a parallel course to the Neutral Zone near Galorndan Core, and at our present speed of warp seven, we should arrive at the starbase in five hours and forty-three minutes."

Rather than wait for the executive officer to turn her attention in his direction, the man standing at the tactical position volunteered, "Sensors are showing a few civilian vessels along the commercial spacelanes coming in and out of the Core. No other traffic detected on long-range sensors." His tone was tired and bored. It was the mission from hell, and it kept replaying over and over again for him.

"Hey," came the stern voice of the exec. "Pay attention. This isn't a pleasure cruise."

The bored voice from tactical replied, "Aye, sir."

In the center seat, the captain continued to slink down into his seat, trying not to be seen. That is, until his exec ordered him to sit up straight. He let go of his lower lip and did as she said, straightening his posture and trying to look a little less uncomfortable about being there.

Then, the dreadful announcement came from the operations. The girl standing there was not surprised. "Captain, we're receiving a distress call from a civilian ship."

He opened his mouth to whisper an order, but the exec just shouted it out for him. "On screen."

There was no further discussion, though the captain was beginning to slink into the chair once more. The screen blinked and showed a very poor quality transmission from the freighter, where just the outline of a being could be seen.

A voice from the speakers, presumably from the being shown before them, spoke, "To any ship… my voice… this is Captain… of the fuel carrier… _Maru_. We have hit a… mine and are… -questing assist-…"

The cadets on the bridge had heard the distress signal before; the fuel carrier _Kobayashi Maru_ had hit a gravitic mine somewhere in the Neutral Zone and it was the duty of the Starfleet vessel to drop whatever it was doing and rush to their aid. But every time the ship entered the Zone, they were met by three Romulan warbirds and their simulated ship was reduced to scrap in record time.

Each attempt on the no-win scenario brought a few more seconds of life, but nothing more substantial than that. Today marked their fourth attempt at a rescue, and this time, Senior Cadet Leanne Norrah was not going to let the bumbling captain lead them to another death.

Without waiting for Senior Cadet Randy Duke to say anything, Leanne turned her attention to the helm, "Take us out of warp, and prepare to enter the Neutral Zone." She made her strides to the tactical station and leaned in, "Be ready for anything, mister. Yellow alert for now, and then punch it up to red once we cross into the Neutral Zone."

"You got it, sir," the tactical cadet was a little less bored, now. It was clear that "Captain" Duke was not going to interfere with Leanne's rise to power over the ship.

"Let's get a lock on their position, and transfer that information to the helm," she continued. "We'll proceed at warp nine."

Everyone on the bridge agreed to those orders quickly. Information was transferred and the helmsman responded appropriately. Soon, the _Bellerophon_ was at warp nine, crossing over into the Neutral Zone. No one warned her about the violation of the treaty, no one warned her that she might be precipitating a war. There was no need to, it was not as if this were not the first time they had attempted this. It was now a routine. The "crew" had embraced this break from that routine.

As expected, they lost the signal of the freighter almost a second after entering the Zone. Within a minute, the first three Romulan warbirds arrived on the scene and locked their weapons.

"All right, Mister Zito. You may return fire. Helm, engage evasive pattern Norrah-beta-one," she said proudly. She did not want to go back to her chair anymore. Her place was as captain, not executive officer. She hoped that the instructor would realize that, now, once and for all. Cadet Duke should not have even bothered himself with showing up today; she smirked to herself as she thought that.

The ship ducked and weaved as the warbirds opened fire. Amazingly, they evaded the first three ships, all of which turned around to pursue the Intrepid-class starship. Folding her arms and beaming with pride, she nodded to herself. She programmed the computer with a random pattern of evasive techniques she spent hours devising. Pouring through manuals, schematics, and stacks of books written on the subject from the best at starship piloting.

"Uh, minimal damage so far, sir," said the engineering cadet in shock.

"Trouble up ahead. These first three must have been the welcome wagon. There's another five up ahead," the tactical cadet warned.

Leanne had expected that. "Helm, engage evasive pattern Norrah-gamma-three." It was all planned, now. Her legs tensed up as the inertial dampening system lagged behind, the ship performed a weaving pattern from side to side, using the docking thrusters for added maneuverability. The computer was good, she knew that; her faith was placed within her ability to anticipate the firing patterns of the standard Romulan warbird, which appeared to be the only ship the computer knew how to put in their way. From three to five, or even a million ships, it did not matter anymore. They all suffered the same firing rates and the same patterns of attack.

It was getting to be too easy, but the cadets on the bridge were astounded by how far they had come. More and more warbirds appeared in their path as they drew closer and closer to the _Maru_'s last known position. The numbers grew into the hundreds, all of them trying to hit the lone ship with a fierce storm of energy and projectile weaponry. The ship took only a few glancing blows, and with the computer adjusting the power output to enormous proportions, it was certain that a direct hit would destroy the _Bellerophon_ entirely.

"Approaching target coordinates," reported the helm cadet, whom Leanne knew to be one of the best pilots in his class. His tone was one of sincere excitement, making minor course corrections to the flying pattern to better ease the ship out harm's way.

On the main viewscreen, it looked as though the entire Romulan fleet has assembled to prevent them from rescuing this poor fuel carrier that hit a gravitic mine. Looming large behind the fleet was a space station of enormous proportions, and within seconds of spotting the structure, it was all over. It was as if the station reached out and slapped the ship out of existence, every severe angle seemingly a weapon of some kind.

The computer intoned their doom, "Program complete. Simulation elapsed time is seventeen minutes and forty-seven seconds. Results will be examined in the Robert April Pavilion at fourteen hundred hours." The Academy holoroom cleared the destroyed bridge from view and returned the silver and gold lines that housed the omnidirectional holographic emitters. All seven cadets seemed to take a deep breath before exiting the room without a word.

Randy wasted very little time, being the last to leave and wanting not to look at the other cadets as they went their separate ways. The mission review would take place with all the other members of his class, and they would all relive the horrors of their deaths together. If he could avoid it, he would, wanting only to be alone with his thoughts in his bunkroom. The other three cadets he shared the room with would be at their classes, as opposed to sitting around and picking on him. He cherished the fleeting minutes he had to himself when there was a lull in his studies in the middle of the day. It was during those minutes that he would write letters to his family; to tell them about how much he was enjoying his time learning about space travel and how to be a good officer in Starfleet. He wanted to assure them beyond any doubt that he was not miserable; they did not need to worry about him.

Today was definitely a day that he needed to write to them to tell them about how well he did on his mission. It was like a therapeutic measure he took to center himself. Counteracting a dismal performance by deluding his family into believing that he was an exceptional cadet, when in reality he was astonished that he had come so far. It was not the studies that he had difficulty with, in fact, all of the subjects that required comprehension and memorization he excelled at and attain high marks. He was the darling cadet of the history department, taking to the historical archives on campus and also those that resided at Memory Alpha, the Federation's primary memory storage facility. Randy often found himself in debates over many subjects with his professors, and all of them knew he would do well as a research officer in a quiet post somewhere.

Starfleet Academy placed all of its cadets in the general educational centers during the first two years of studies. They all bunked together in cramped quarters, and all of them shared in the same classes. They would learn the basic officer training courses that all Starfleet officers take. It was here that they learned the basics of self-defense, engineering, space sciences, piloting, navigation, and leadership. During the last four months of a cadet's sophomore year, the various specialty colleges, such as Command, Engineering, Space Science, and Tactical, would begin to poll the cadet classes for those who would best suit a degree from the respective training center. Each college would span the final two years of their training, and their degree marked as a graduate of the Academy with a specialization in that particular school.

It often confused Randy as to how he ended up at the Command College, rather than in the sciences. He had never envisioned himself acting as a starship commander, leading hundreds of people into space. He felt more at ease with his books and the images of the past than he did with the present. He wanted to study history, not create it. When the Chief Instructor of the Command College had him report to his office to discuss his career options within Starfleet at the end of his sophomore year, he was astonished at the invitation he had extended to him. He presented Randy with dreams the cadet never thought were possible. But then, that was the point of Starfleet to begin with, the commodore told him. The dream of space exploration had been the guiding principle of the Federation. Why not share in that?

His junior year placed him in many classes, most of them dealing with the studies of leadership and command. History played a large role in his understanding of how starship captains arrived at their decisions. Randy studied the likes of Robert April, Christopher Pike, Ronald Tracey, and James Kirk. He enjoyed watching mission records of their tenures at the helm, and it mattered not to him whether they were good captains or poor leaders. The lessons were there for him to learn from. He often wandered into the student holorooms, loading historical records for playback. During a particular unit on the Prime Directive, he studied the voyages of the fifth starship _Enterprise_ closely.

The start of his senior year brought about the formation of his "crew." Traditionally, all senior command cadets were assigned to lead a team of seven cadets. A fellow senior command cadet would serve as the executive officer, while the other senior and junior cadets would assume the responsibilities of the various positions they specialized in. The more experience in the simulators that each cadet received went toward his studies. In return for spending a high amount of hours and marks in the holorooms at the Academy, a cadet would earn him or herself a denotation on their service record. Upon graduation, that denotation would provide their prospective commanding officers an understanding of how much simulated experience they had. Randy and his team held the semester record with over seventy hours, but the second lowest marks so far.

As the time neared fourteen hundred hours, he felt a sense of dread at having to weather another poor rating from the class' instructor, Commander Patricia del Toro. The Robert April Pavilion, located in the Command College's small complex at the north side of the campus, was a short walk from his bunkroom at Nogura Hall. The Pavilion was generally used for lectures that would draw large crowds, as well as the commencement ceremonies for graduation. Randy always thought of the Pavilion as the firing grounds. It was where he and his fellow cadets were often ridiculed and shown to be utterly incompetent at what they were training for. Once again, he would have to endure it, and the subsequent torture of having to plan the next mission with the same people who thought he was the source of the incompetence.

He had never seen Leanne take the reigns like that before. She had often voiced her displeasure at his lack of leadership skills, but she maintained her place at his side. Perhaps she would prompt him from time to time, in that very short tone of hers. Maybe Commander del Toro will recognize that she has the proper leadership ability that he lacks and make a change in commanding officer. Randy thought it over as he walked out of his dormitory and joined some of the other cadets with similar destinations. It was obvious by their behavior that the result of his simulation had already become common knowledge. He felt their stares on him; he knew they were discussing him while pointing and laughing.

By the time he arrived at his destination and sat down in his designated seat, he realized that his first instinct of not even bothering to appear was the correct one. Nothing could be worse than the silent treatment from his own crew, in his mind. Even expulsion from the Academy would remove the burden he felt on his shoulders. Now more than ever did he begin to question his presence at Command College. Maybe he could talk to Lieutenant Hastings at Science for a transfer, which he was sure to grant after today.

Commander del Toro arrived and the class of cadet rose up as she walked to the podium. The review process often took anywhere from three to four hours, and every single detail of every single simulation was dissected and analyzed. "Take a seat," she said. Moving a hand to brush her dark brown bangs out of her eyes, she gave a brief summary of what she had already seen. She praised the top group of cadets, the crew of the simulated starship _Potemkin_, led by the natural leader Cadet Leone.

Leone was a Starfleet legacy, just like Duke. Leone's mother was a famous starship captain, while his father held a directorship at the Daystrom Institute. Randy's parents were both living in San Francisco, working out of Starfleet Headquarters in Sausalito. Both of them worked as aides to various Admirals, his mother was a lieutenant commander for one of the rear admirals in the security division. His father held the rank of commander, and worked for the Commander-in-Chief in public relations. Neither of them had much space experience. Randy grew up in San Francisco, but Dominic was born on his mother's starship and grew up among the stars.

"And now let's turn our attention to the intrepid crew of the starship _Bellerophon_," del Toro looked over toward his group. Luckily, she did not request they stand as she made her commentary. "This is the fifth time that Captain Duke and his crew have attempted the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation. Let's watch the record, and then we shall go through the routine." The large viewscreen switched from the Starfleet Academy insignia to the bridge of the simulated starship. Randy did not watch the record, but he noticed that Leanne Norrah's face was unashamedly proud.

Once the record ran its course, the hall erupted in applause at the turn of events. Commander del Toro shot a glance at the class, "Settle down, people." She looked over the cadets with a curious glance, "I see that all of you agree with the action by Cadet Norrah to assume command of the situation and what she felt was the best interests of the ship?"

The response was in the affirmative. Cadets seated behind Leanne were patting her back to express their admiration for her choice.

"Cadet Leanne Norrah, front and center," called del Toro. She indicated that she wanted the cadet to stand up in front of the class.

Randy sighed, slouching back in his seat just as he did on the bridge. He did not want to be there any more.

Leanne's excitement could barely be contained. She looked like she had touched a live wire and electricity willed her down to the front. The executive officer stood at attention, waiting to be praised.

del Toro smiled at her, "It was a courageous move, Cadet, to usurp command like that. You moved into the Neutral Zone, you evaded a great number of enemy vessels in what was sure to be a brave attempt to reach that vessel."

"Yes, sir!" Norrah was practically shouting her answer.

The commander's smile dropped. "So what exactly did you think you were accomplishing, other than premeditated mutiny?"

Randy looked up, his expression one of surprise.

Leanne's face betrayed her shock. "Sir?"

"Mutiny, Cadet. As in the illegal relief of your commanding officer," reiterated del Toro in a much sterner tone. "I'm waiting for your answer."

"Sir, I just thought that Cadet Duke was not competent enough to carry out his duties," Leanne said.

"I see. Your class instructor appointed Cadet Duke as your commanding officer. Are you standing before me right now telling me that your judgment is superior to mine?"

Leanne began to sputter, "Sir, I-I-I just thought…"

Commander del Toro did not allow her to complete her sentence; "You just thought that my appointment was some sort of a mistake, right? That he does not possess the skills of a leader, and therefore you overstepped your authority as his executive officer and betrayed every regulation you swore to obey when you accepted your appointment to the Academy." She looked over the cadet class, "Lest we not forget that the Uniform Code of Military Justice applies to cadets as well as the enlisted and commissioned members of Starfleet."

Leanne paled, her jaw dropped and she turned to say something to del Toro.

But the commander did not want to hear it. "Remain at attention, Cadet," she told Leanne sharply. "Oh, don't worry," her tone was now patronizing, "I'm not going to move to have you expelled, although by all rights I should. This entire class, with the exception of Cadet Duke, applauded your actions. That means that as an instructor, I have failed to properly instruct you all in the true meaning of what it means to command a starship. We do not graduate mutineers at Starfleet Academy, ladies and gentlemen. Your support of mutinous actions is appalling to me. So, for the rest of the week, this entire class will study this record in detail. Each of you will write a ten thousand-word review of Cadet Norrah's actions on my desk no later than oh-eight-hundred Friday. If you feel that she acted in the best interest of Starfleet regulations, I want to see the argument supported by fact, not emotions. Your grade depends on your conclusions, and this grade will be worth a hefty percentage of your final grade." She looked at Leanne, "Cadet Norrah, since this was your doing, you will report to Lieutenant T'Praya at Starfleet Law, so that her students may make good use of this material in your mock court-martial."

The pavilion was silent as the commander spoke. Randy began to think of different approaches to the assignment she just handed out. He thought that perhaps he could support her actions through a general order he had once read about rendering aid, but then the safety of the ship was definitely in question, as it had been destroyed.

"Return to your seat, Cadet," ordered del Toro. "Cadet Duke, you are excused from this assignment, and instead you will attend a conference in my office at seventeen hundred today. Are there any questions with regard to the untimely demise of the _Bellerophon_?"

No one dared to raise a hand.

"Very well. Moving on…"

* * *

A steaming cup of mint tea permeated the air as Randy Duke stood before Commander del Toro's desk. Private conferences within her office did not leave much to the imagination about the subject matter. Regardless of her admonishment of Leanne's actions in the simulator, she still needed to address the drive behind the mutiny. Rather than doing so in front of class, where she knew he had already felt uncomfortable, she opted for a less public setting. 

"Cadet Duke, please take a seat," del Toro nodded her head toward the empty chair. "I would like to discuss with you, at length, about your future within the command program here."

Here it comes, he thought. Randy remained silent, not wanting to say anything due to the fact that he did not trust his voice. It was better to let her say whatever it is she has to say first, and then react.

She noticed his choice to not say anything. del Toro had respect for his prowess as a theorist, but not as a leader. "You allowed Cadet Norrah to breach regulations without any interference. Of course, that was probably the smart move, since she had already polled the cadets before the mission and secured their loyalty. That's how a real mutiny works. The captain has to be removed from power by the officers, and they certainly did that in spades. Even if you took your ship back by force, the officers would never have paid any attention to you.

"I did not ask you here to praise your inaction, however. I asked you here to give you options. You can do one of three things: The first is to continue as captain of the _Bellerophon_ with your current crew of Cadet Norrah and Cadet Zito, and everyone else. The second option is that I reassign you as the executive officer of the _Potemkin_. Cadet Leone has expressed an interest in wanting to assist me with instruction, and I can see no better method of helping you understand command and leadership ability than by having you work with him," offered del Toro. She took a sip of her tea, as it had cooled off to a bearable temperature.

Randy looked up at that. A chance to work with Dominic Leone and his crew was an opportunity he would welcome. Maybe then Leone would teach him what he needed to know about putting all of this theory into good practice, instead of always feeling as though he were a fraud. His expression indicated his desire to do just that.

"Before you make up your mind, Cadet, please hear me out," she said, watching his eyes. "Your final option would be to resign from Command College, and transfer to any other school of your choice. I understand that the science school has been eager to accept you, and I'm sure that would solve the problem by removing you from command. However, Cadet, I would like to express to you how much it would mean to me if you could stick it out here. I see in you a great potential as a starship commander. Your grades in analysis and history are unmatched, and if we could build a bridge between that skill set and the practice of being a captain, you would be a formidable presence in Starfleet."

Cadet Randolph Geoffrey Duke blinked at Commander del Toro's words. He had no concept or notion of her confidence in him. Presented with those options, and her praise, he thought about what he wanted to do with the rest of his time at the Academy. If he transferred to sciences, he would probably have to spend another year of studying in order to wear the peacock blue turtleneck.

Working with Cadet Leone appealed to him for obvious reasons. Learning from the best in his class would provide him with an opportunity to not throw away the past year and a half, and salvage himself a passing grade and graduate. Wearing the wine red uniform held more prestige and it would satisfy his parents' expectations.

"How long do I have to decide, sir?" Randy asked.

"In lieu of the assignment I gave out, I would like for your answer to given to me this Friday at the same time," she replied with a smile. "I'm glad you didn't answer right away. It says a lot about your character, Cadet. Dismissed."

He rose from the chair and stood at attention before retreating from her office. Randy gave a small acknowledging nod to the administrative aide that served the instructors as he crossed the threshold back out into the California sun. The college's offices were located directly opposite the Pavilion and his destination slowly became the library, where he would seek refuge in history references.

* * *

There was a tree in the Academy garden that Dominic Leone liked to lay under with a PADD. It was surrounded on all sides by a flowerbed. After a day of performing in the simulator and then sitting through countless reviews of his peers, it was a small reward to himself to find a quiet spot in the garden to sit and read, study, or just get away from the rest of Starfleet without leaving the campus. 

"I see that you've decided to be stubborn," said a very familiar voice.

Dominic looked up from his book and smiled immediately, "Can you give me a break, please? It's been one hell of a day."

Boothby peered at him while leaning on a long gardening tool, "I know. I heard about the simulations from a couple of cadets in your class. But from what I hear, there was another cadet who had an even rougher time of it." The aging groundskeeper only approached the young men and women of the Academy when he felt it was necessary to do so. He had an innate nature about him that bred trust and natural friendship among the cadets that lasted far beyond graduation. Rumor had it that most of the admirals still looked in on him from time to time.

After a pause, "Randy Duke," was all Leone said.

"Randy Duke," Boothby confirmed. "I was in the faculty dining room, and I overhead Commander del Toro saying that she offered him an option to leave the program."

"She knows what's best, I guess," said Dominic.

The head groundskeeper for Starfleet Academy sighed, shaking his head. "She doesn't want him to leave the program. Gave him two other options. One was to stick it out with his crew, or join your group."

"Join _my_ group?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Dominic looked away from Boothby to consider that option. He did not know Randy Duke beyond his reputation with the rest of the class. He knew that Duke was considered to be the brightest mind, but one of the poorest captains. Leone was certain that del Toro wanted to help Duke to overcome that problem. "Well… maybe there's something I can do to help him make up his mind."

"Good," said Boothby with a nod. "Why don't you go do that and stay the hell off of my flowerbed!"

The cadet leaped up from the tree as Boothby raised his voice. "Sorry," he said.

"Not half as sorry as you will be if I catch you doing that again. I mean it," the groundskeeper warned.

Dominic moved out of range of Boothby's ranting, and made his way toward the library with his books in hand. His thoughts were on the situation and what he could do to help Cadet Duke come to a decision he would feel the most comfortable with. Looking down at the stack in his hand to make certain that they would not fall to the ground. It was his lack of attention that caused him to intercept his quarry without even realizing it.

It was the southeast corner of the mess hall, where the foliage disappeared on the path and prevented both Randy from seeing around it. He looked up in shock at Dominic, who was busy picking up his things and making an apology to Randy. "Damn, sorry about that. But it's lucky that I found you. Do you have a moment to talk?"

Cadet Duke shrugged after bringing himself back on his feet with Dominic's assistance. "It seems like all I have is time. Maybe this is fate trying to tell me something."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. What did you want to talk about?"

"Boothby's worried about you. He asked me to see if there was anything I could do to help."

"_Boothby_?" Randy's tone was incredulous. He was not aware that the famous groundskeeper even knew he existed. With both hands outstretched, he nearly shouted in frustration and anxiety, "Does the whole school know about this?"

Dominic tried to conceal a chuckle, and the result was a noise very much as though he was clearing his throat. "Boothby's Boothby," he replied, and that truly was all one could say on the subject. "Why don't we head over to the lounge and have a chat about this?"

Randy showed his agreement to that by nodding his head. The walk to the cadet lounge carried the sense of small talk. Leone asked him about his classes and his friends, saddened to learn that he generally kept to himself and tried to stay out of sight. By the time they had reached the lounge and found a quiet corner to hold their discussion, Dominic appeared to be concerned.

"It sounds to me like you feel that you don't belong here," Dominic surmised. "I may not agree with that. You get the best grades in most of your classes." He had seen Randy's name atop the lists in the corridors.

Duke became uncomfortable as a blush settled upon his cheeks. "I know. But, getting good grades at judging others' decisions isn't what command is all about. I think it's more about how I handle myself in a similar situation."

"Don't you do that already?" asked Dominic.

"What do you mean?"

"In class, when you're writing your paper on someone. Don't you put yourself in their shoes and try to imagine what it would be like to shoulder than burden?" Leone tried a different tactic; "I can assure you from first-hand experience, and watching starship captains deal with command. They often look to the past for help. It's not the same as writing a paper, but it's same analytical skill."

Randy's gaze dropped away from Dominic as he pondered that. "I-I never really thought about it that way, I guess."

Leone smiled. "I know you have it in you to be a good leader. We have the same history classes together. I've seen you get passionate about the interpretation of history enough times to understand that about you."

"But I'm not as passionate about command as I am about history," Randy replied, looking at Dominic again.

"Who is? Name me one good captain in Starfleet history who did not possess a passion that had nothing to do with command. Only the megalomaniacal leaders could be described as being passionate about being in command. The egoists, and the boors." It was Dominic's turn to look down at the floor, "My own mother is far more passionate about music than she is about commanding her ship. It's never about the power. To her, I think it's about the mission and the people."

"B-But your mother is a respected Starfleet officer," sputtered Randy. "I'm not like her."

"Yet." Dominic shot back with a grin. "You think my mother sprang into existence with the prestige of being who she is, or the reputation that she has? Just like every other cadet at the Academy and every officer in Starfleet, she had to earn it. You and I are no different than she. She's just further along her career than we are. You shouldn't measure yourself against others as far as leadership goes."

Randy asked, after a long pause to consider the last point, "Do you think it's fair for cadets to follow an untried cadet as their commander?"

"Not any more fair than it is for Starfleet to ask experience officers to follow an untried captain," replied Dominic.

This drew a wince from Randy as that point was driven home. "Okay, okay." He laughed at himself a little bit, thinking about how silly he had been. "Thanks."

"Anytime," replied Dominic. "One more thing, though," he said as Randy stood up to leave. "Don't let this be the last time we talk. If you need help or you just want to use me as a sounding board, come find me."

Randy looked at Dominic, surprised at that. "I'll remember that. It's… much appreciated."

* * *

The holographic Romulan starbase destroyed the _Bellerophon_ for the fiftieth time on the display. Following the review, the records of their performances were open to the class for individual study. It was not the first time that Randy Duke found himself in one of library's study areas, watching his own performance as captain in detail. Keeping Dominic's words in mind, he began to understand exactly how pathetic he seemed. Even he would not dare follow such a captain, but then, he would not have dared to cross the captain like Leanne had. 

He envied the confidence she held in her ability. She took charge right out from under him, and he recalled his thoughts at the moment as being nothing but a great sense of relief. Not solely relief, he pondered to himself. There was jealously and annoyance at having been removed without so much as the courtesy or respect of being informed of her actions. How could he stand for that? Why did he not do anything to prevent her from taking them into the Neutral Zone?

Randy's eyes checked the chronometer that flickered in the corner of the screen. The hour was late, but he still had an hour before lights out. Hoping to catch a free holoroom to study his mission closely, he quickly pushed away from the study desk and walked briskly toward the exit.

Entering into the first available holoroom, he loaded the mission record and studied it. It was like reliving a memory for him, and the knot in his stomach danced around as he painfully watched his poor performance with all the realism that the record afforded. He stopped the record, and reset the mission.

"Computer," he called out, "load the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation for command evaluation purposes."

The computer's voice replied, "Specify team parameters."

"_Bellerophon_."

"Parameters set."

"Begin program."

"Warning. Team members are not in attendance."

Randy looked up with a pained expression, "Uhm… can you replace the missing team members with appropriate holographic personnel?"

"Affirmative. Please specify reference."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"Historical or fictional reference must be determined to replace the mission team members."

Randy smirked to himself, "Historical." Why not? He took the captain's chair and sat down as the computer continued to ask for further parameters. Which part of history? Did he have a particular starship in mind? There was no question in his mind about that. "_Enterprise_."

"There have been six starships with the name _Enterprise_. Please specify which vessel and time period you wish to select as a historical reference."

He could not help his smile. "All of them."

"Working." Figures appeared all around him; every single bridge crew from every _Enterprise_ looked at him and Randy cringed at the scene. James T. Kirk seemed to be pressed up against Rachel Garrett, Data found himself locked in between Uhura and John Harriman. It was as though the barriers of time were removed on the bridge and the finest officers in Starfleet found themselves stuck in a type of sardine can on the holoroom.

"Oh no!" Randy said quickly, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath before making himself clear. "Computer, from the crew of each _Enterprise_, please select the most qualified crewmember for each duty station." He heard the figures disappear immediately, and then the same sound as the computer brought back the appropriate number of people. "Begin program," he told the computer, deciding to be surprised.

Captain Hikaru Sulu called from the helm station, "Sir, we're on course for Starbase 375 at warp seven. We will be passing the main commercial route to Galorndan Core in five minutes."

"Galorndan Core," smiled Commander William T. Riker, seated in the executive officer's position. "It's a pity we can't stop by and visit. They have an amazing recreational facility there."

Randy could only nod toward him. Riker was still serving in Starfleet. He had seen mission records, but this was the first time he got a really close view of the man. Despite his being a hologram, he never imagined he would be so personable. He could only nod toward him as he spoke about Galorndan Core. "I-I-I've never been," Randy stammered.

Sulu chuckled, "It's not exactly a vacation spot for Starfleet officers, sir."

Riker smirked at Sulu, "I never said I was there for a vacation."

"Arcturus is a far better place to get your face smashed in," said Lieutenant Natasha Yar from tactical. "Not to mention it's easier on the eyes."

"Captain," called Lieutenant Richard Castillo from the operations station. "We're receiving a distress call."

Riker replied before Randy could speak, "Audio or visual?"

Castillo looked at his station, "It's audio-only, and it's weak. I'm trying to boost the gain to maximum."

"On speakers," said Randy, closing his eyes as he did so.

A voice from the speakers spoke through the static, "To any ship… my voice… this is Captain… of the fuel carrier… _Maru_. We have hit a… mine and are… -questing assist-…"

"Can you clean that up a little bit more, Lieutenant?" asked Riker.

Shaking his head, "Sorry, Commander. That's the best I can do."

"If memory serves," said a deep gravelly voice from the science station, "the _Kobayashi Maru_ is a fuel carrier with the capacity to transport three hundred passengers." Spock looked at Randy with those cold eyes, looking to him to acknowledge his information.

"Orders, sir?" asked Riker.

He chewed at his upper lip in thought. Time was of the essence, here. Randy cleared his throat, "Mister C-Castillo, signal them back, tell them we have received their distress call."

"Aye, sir. Stand by," Castillo entered in the proper commands into the operations station and then began to speak to the air. "_Kobayashi Maru_, this is the Federation starship _Bellerophon_. Please respond."

The speakers crackled with more static, "-_phon_! We hear you!" But that was all that could be understood.

"_Kobayashi Maru_," said Castillo once more, "please retransmit. We're losing your signal." He continued to try to amplify their weak signal, but it was no use. "I'm sorry, Captain. There's more static than message."

Yar asked Spock, "Ambassador, can you track that signal down using the ship's lateral array?"

Randy looked at her for a moment. That was some unusual initiative she demonstrated. Usually, you had to poke and prod his real bridge crew into carrying out his orders. "Uh, Mister Sulu, once the origin of the signal is determined, plot a course to intercept, but do not engage."

"Aye, sir," said Sulu's deep baritone.

"I'm unable to determine the transponder of the ship from this distance," noted Spock. "The signal appears to be coming from within the Neutral Zone, but the carrier signal appears to indicate an ambiguous source transmitter." He made a supposition that it could be a side effect of the damage from the mine.

Castillo yelped, "Got it! They're in the Neutral Zone, way off course from the main Galorndan route."

Spock confirmed those findings, while Sulu reported, "At warp nine, we could be there in five minutes."

Riker frowned, "If we enter the Netural Zone, there's a possibility that we could precipitate a conflict."

"But the Romulans aren't supposed to be in the Neutral Zone, either, Commander," commented Yar.

Randy let go of a deep breath he did not realize he was holding in. The possibilities were endless and his options were not great. He did the best thing he could think of to do, "Well, what are our options?" It was a general question to everyone.

Yar was the first to speak, "Captain, five minutes is not that long. We could be in and out before the Romulans even realize what happened."

"Captain," said Sulu, "I'm not sure if rushing in there is the right thing to do. We could contact the Romulans and request a joint mission or…"

"That would take too long," Yar said, interrupting him in spite of his rank. "Time is of the essence."

Riker offered, "I agree with Lieutenant Yar, sir. We would be justified in aiding a civilian vessel. They are closer to our border than the Romulans. We could take it in tow and bring it back in ten minutes."

"Captain, I recommend we launch a probe and determine if the ship really exists," said Spock.

Randy Duke looked around. Castillo made no suggestion of his own, merely watching the other members of the bridge discuss the problem. No one else spoke up after Spock, however, and it seemed like the Ambassador provided an option that would not place the ship at too much risk.

"Number One," said Cadet Duke to Riker, quietly enjoying the opportunity to do so, "let's go with the Ambassador's suggestion. Take us out of warp and ready a probe for launch."

"Aye, sir. Mister Sulu, all stop. Ambassador, Tasha, ready a class nine probe for launch," ordered Riker, sitting down in his seat. "May I recommend Yellow Alert, sir?"

"Okay," Randy nodded; he was far more interested in seeing what happened than being in command. The increase in readiness was communicated by the way of the yellow lighting appearing along the bulkhead and on the status indicator above and below the main viewscreen.

The various members of the bridge crew worked in harmony with one another. Yar readied the forward torpedo tube for a probe launch, while Spock modified the onboard sensor package to his specifications. Castillo continued to track the origin area and passed sensor information to Spock in real time. Sulu made the necessary course corrections to bring the forward torpedo launcher to bear on the target coordinates. Within a minute, the probe was ready for launch. On the main viewscreen, they watched the small object's onboard micronacelle propelled the tiny object at warp nine toward its destination.

Two minutes later, Richard Castillo reported that the signal from the ship was lost. "I think maybe their communications equipment is no longer functioning. The signal was cut off rather abruptly."

Spock reported telemetry from the probe was incoming and being recorded by the ship's computer. "The probe has entered the target sector, one minute until it reaches the target coordinates."

The main viewscreen was patched into the live feed from the probe by Riker's order. Stars streaked by as though the ship were at warp, and then slowed down when a large field came into view. It looked like a bunch of asteroids from a distance, but then a small cloud of silver and gray material filled the lower half of the screen.

"Initial analysis of the debris pattern indicates that the ship was destroyed by a warp core breach," reported Spock, keeping his eyes focused on the science display before him. "I am also reading the blast pattern of a gravitic mine nearby. The drift rate would support their reasoning."

Riker sighed, looking at Randy, "It's not your fault, Captain. You acted in the best interests of the ship."

"Computer, freeze program." Riker's visage reflected his command. He turned around and it seemed as though each one had a different expression on their face. Sulu was sympathetic, but he looked as though he agreed with Riker. Spock's stony features remained unchanged. Yar appeared to be frustrated, and Castillo kept his eyes on his station. Randy stood from the center seat and heaved a heavy sigh toward it. "Uhm, let's save this program under my personal directory and clear the holoroom for use by someone else. Exit."

The computer's audible acknowledgement came in a series of words and noises, "Program saved to the personal directory of Randolph Duke. The program's parameters have been named Duke-seven for future reference."

Checking the chronometer, he ran to his bunkroom realizing that he had only a few minutes before the imposed curfew on the cadets. While his legs moved, his mind began to form an idea of how to handle the problem presented before him.

Unlike the bridge crew he had just interacted with, his was inexperienced. They had not yet learned how to work together as a team, or better yet, a true understanding of their individual strengths and weaknesses. Even though the computer generated bridge crew had never served together, they came to rely on skills they knew each one had. Natasha Yar knew to rely on Spock to access the lateral sensor array for information. William T. Riker responded to information supplied by the bridge crew within his authority. He handled the bridge crew on behalf of the captain, and executed Randy's orders without question. Once he made his decision, that was it, he realized. The duty of everyone on board was to follow the decision of the captain.

Leanne would never act in such a fashion, he thought to himself as he ran through the door to his shared room and ignored the jibes of his bunkmates. He found her to be overbearing and condescending toward him. He knew she carried almost no respect for him whatsoever, and that was a dangerous element to exist within the chain of command. As he lay down on his bunk and closed his eyes, he reasoned with himself that Commander Riker would have never spoken to Captain Picard in such a fashion, nor would any first officer aboard any starship in Starfleet. Not if they valued their career. The difference appeared to be a lack of commitment to the idea of actually being on the bridge of a starship. He understood a little better about that, now.

Where had his lack of confidence gone, he wondered as the lights turned out within the bunkroom. He felt self-conscious of his actions and words at the beginning of the simulation, but then his confidence seemed to appear as time went on and he felt comfortable in working with those officers. Randy wondered about that. Buried in thought, he kept asking himself where the line was that he crossed from stammering to self-assured. His approach to command was the reflection of his peers. The caliber of officer he was forced to work with.

Dominic Leone took his team and built a group that worked well together. Did that happen by chance? Perhaps, but it was more likely that Leone merely cultivated each cadet to be the best they can be. He inspired them to work together. That was leadership; that was how commanders built their loyalty. Loyalty not only to them, but also to each other. Throughout history, it was not simply that officers on a bridge crew would remain at their assignments for more than a tour of duty solely based on the commanding officer. It was the other people they had to work with. That was why captains like Kirk and Picard held onto the majority of their bridge crew. They inspired teamwork.

Randy made his decision.

* * *

"Uh, I want to thank you all for, uh, coming down here today on your time off," said Randy, the next day. He stood on the simulated bridge of the _Bellerophon_, looking at each cadet as they stood nearby him. Not a single person met his eyes as he looked at him. "I want to give the scenario one more try, with your permission. I have been trying my best to study and prepare…" 

Leanne sighed heavily, "So what? This isn't about studying. Anyone can study their brains out, but it doesn't change the fact that you're not a good captain."

"Not yet," Randy smiled.

"Not ever," Leanne retorted.

Zito smirked at the exchanged, sharing an amused glance with the helm cadet.

Randy tried to put a smile on his face, but he failed. Leanne seemed like such a bully to him, always trying to make sure that he felt as useless as possible. Not today, not if he could help it. "M-My ability to command effectively…"

"… does not exist," Leanne interrupted him, accenting each word loudly to drive her point home.

"That's enough," Randy said, his tone angry. "You stand there and point fingers at the problem, but you do nothing to resolve it. If you're not a part of the solution, you're part of the problem, Leanne."

She was shocked at his sudden outburst, mouth open and unable to say anything to that. It was the first time she had ever known him to get angry at anyone.

Zito and the other cadets looked between the both of them, unsure of how to act or react in this case.

Randy ignored her, and continued, "As I was saying before I was interrupted by my first officer, the problem that exists here is a lack of teamwork. Before we can follow orders and before you can give them, the most important aspect to working a bridge that I've come to understand is that we have to rely on each other as peers, first. Trust in each other the ability to carry out our duties and not betray that trust by usurping the authority right out from under them." He stopped, to look at their reactions.

Leanne did not stop from looking anywhere but at him, but Zito and the other cadet appeared to regard him a little differently.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Zito, I know you're good at what you do. Your experiences at tactical are going to come in handy, but you're part of this team. We have to compliment each other, not conflict with each other."

Zito nodded in response, "I see that. But how do we get to a point where we work as a team?"

"I don't know," Randy said honestly.

Leanne blew air at her bangs, "Well, gee, Fearless Leader…"

"You're relieved."

She blinked, "What?"

"You heard me. You are relieved of your duties as first officer, effective immediately," replied Randy, with a tone so calm that it shocked him. "I'll tell Commander del Toro to have you reassigned."

Leanne tried to hold up her hands, "Whoa, wait a minute. If you do that…" She did not need to say anything further. Her grade in the class would be forfeit, as part of a disciplinary action. She would have to retake the course and probably would not graduate until the end of the fall or spring semester of the following year.

He nodded, "Exactly. You are unwilling to work with the team; you're unwilling to ensure that we succeed. You need to be somewhere else."

"Wait!" Leanne nearly screeched, her voice in a panic. "Wait a minute, you have to give me another chance."

Randy smiled; he had her where he wanted her. "All right. Give me another chance, then."

She looked at the other cadets, who now appeared to move their support behind Randy. They had forgotten that despite his demeanor he maintained the authority as captain to have them removed. Of course, had he removed Leanne, he would take a hit on his personal grade for the course, but not as large of a black mark as Leanne would. Given her attitude, remarks, and actions, it was almost a certainty that the instructor would side with Randy over the debate.

The decision to give him another chance at being her captain took two seconds and it was based entirely upon survival. "Fine."

Randy declared victory with a clap of his hands, "That's great. You're reinstated, then. I'd like to begin today, by trying this one more time. But this time, we're going to try it a little differently." He grinned widely, "Let me tell how much I learned last night, by just sitting in the center seat with experienced starship officers. Computer, load program Duke-seven and run the program."


	4. Constitution

**The Quarterdeck Breed  
By Michael D. Garcia**

**Part Three: _Constitution_**

Federation News Network Studios  
San Francisco, Earth

"Welcome back," said the woman seated on the stage across from the Starfleet officer. "I'm Polly Kinsella and with us today is Rear Admiral Heathcliff Winslow, the current fleet operations liaison to the United Earth Space Probe Agency. Thank you again for joining us on _In Focus_, Admiral."

The rear admiral smiled for her and the cameras; it was a forced smile rather than a genuine one. "Thank you for having me. I'm happy to be here," he lied in a polite tone.

Polly's brunette hair was curled in ringlets across her brow and falling down across the shoulders of her maroon outfit. It was clear she was not a field reporter, but a studio anchor reading questions from the prompting display behind Winslow. It was a list of questions that Winslow's office had approved for use on the air, to prevent any information that was not for public consumption to be aired across the Federation. She smiled at him briefly before launching into the interview, "Admiral, let's address the controversial issue at hand first. Given the disastrous first contacts with the Klingon and Romulan empires, do you believe that we should continue to support our deep space exploration projects?"

Winslow had expected that question to be the first one, "If I didn't, Polly, I certainly would not be in Starfleet, working with the Agency to further that project." He used his most jovial tone, trying to play down his remark from being interpreted as hostile. In a more serious tone, he pointed out, "As for the wars with the Klingons and the Romulans, all I can say is that while Starfleet prefers to look for peaceful solutions to conflicts, we are going to encounter other cultures that do not share that viewpoint."

"But twice now we've had to mobilize Starfleet for war. How would you respond to the critics who tout Starfleet as nothing more than a collection of warmongering officers?" Polly asked.

He tried not to frown as he responded; "I would respond by saying that at no time did we ever start those wars. Our charter with the Federation specifically states that we are to be used as a defensive force, not an expansionist fleet."

She smiled, "So why not send out unarmed science vessels instead of heavily armed military craft?"

"Well," he thought out loud, "I believe that the primary role of the exploration fleet is to boldly go where no man has gone before. Now, I'm a firm believer in the motto of the Boy Scouts of America, having been an Eagle Scout myself, that as explorers, we should take with us the tools to be prepared for anything. This means that we bring supplies to sustain us along the way, we bring the best scientists we have to discern what we discover, and we bring weapons to protect those brave men and women should they find themselves with no other option but to fight." Winslow tried another tack, raising his hand toward the anchorwoman to prevent her from asking another question, "When the pioneers of the Ancient West first embarked on their journeys to find a new home or even to find a new route to more natural resources, did we admonish them for bringing weapons to protect themselves?"

Realizing she would not win with that line of questioning, the prompter told her to ask, "What can you tell us about the Starship-class project?" It was then that a graphic representation of the gleaming white ship appeared in the upper right portion of the screen while Winslow began to reply.

Finally, he thought to himself. This was the real reason they had him go on the news feed in the first place. "Keeping with the tradition of exploration, we intend to send our sons and daughters into the great unknown in the very best of Federation technology. The Starship class of ship is by far our largest product ever constructed. She is nearly three hundred meters in length, and her crew compliment is well over four hundred people."

"You have a more than passing familiarity with the Antares-class, right Admiral?" asked Polly.

"I commanded the USS _Aldeberan_ for eleven years," he replied with a nod. "She was a product of that class."

"What are some of the major differences between the two?" The visage of the Antares-class appeared in a side-by-side comparison with the Starship-class graphic.

Winslow saw the comparison out of the corner of his eye, "As you can see here, most of the difference lies in the sheer size and various capabilities of the two ships. The Antares-class of cruisers had a maximum speed of warp seven, while the Starship-class has the projected top speed of warp nine."

"Quite an achievement, Admiral."

"Some of the other differences you might notice beyond the shape of the hull are the addition of a secondary or engineering hull. Besides serving as the base of operations for the support services such as engineering and security, in certain circumstances or conditions, it's possible to separate the saucer section of the ship from the engineering hull and proceed at sublight speeds," explained Winslow as the graphic demonstrated. He was reading from the scripted responses off-screen and directly opposite him.

"You mentioned that this new class carries with it major improvements. Does this include weapons?" she baited him.

The rear admiral nodded, "It does. The Starship-class will carry a more powerful version of the ship-mounted phasers, and will feature additional torpedo launchers. Of course, these are all defensive weapons."

"Critics of the exploration programs have stated that arming our explorer vessels is an aggressive stance."

"Those critics have obviously never served a day of their lives in deep space," Winslow countered. "When we charter Federation colonies, we always provide two stipulations. The first is that each colony will have the protection of Starfleet, and the second is that they have the right to take with them an allotment of weaponry for defense. Some colonies have even formed militias and home guard organizations. Any occupation dealing with the necessity of being in space is not a safe one. How can we contribute to danger by not preparing our people with as many options necessary?"

Polly winced off-screen to her lack of experience with deep space jobs. "But colonies are stationary."

"That's true. However, when they do encounter hostile forces, and there have been documented cases of that happening, are you suggesting we send unarmed vessels to defend them?" Winslow looked at her with a sly smile.

She cleared her throat, "Let's return to the construction of this new class of ship, Admiral. Does it have a name?"

He nodded, "It does. Though, for the past twenty-eight months, she has been referred to simply as NCC-1700, but a month ago, the Agency suggested a name to the Corps of Engineers and it was confirmed just last week that the first vessel of this class will be _Constitution_."

"Named for the eighteenth century American vessel?"

"That's right. I suspect that this will also change the name of the class in time. Traditionally, you always name the class for the first vessel constructed," smiled Winslow.

"The Constitution-class," Polly tried the new name. "How many vessels are planned at this point?"

"Right now, we've laid the hulls for three vessels including _Constitution_. They have not yet been named, but the hull numbers are one-seven-zero-one and one-seven-zero-two. The next vessel to be completed will use an unfulfilled contract number from the Antares-class, and that will be one-zero-one-seven. Overall, the project calls for twelve to thirteen ships under the first run, and if the Agency will allow us to continue, then an additional ten will augment that fleet. Some of the names tossed around for those ships have been _Wasp_, _Exeter_, _Excalibur_, _Constellation_, and _Farragut_," answered Winslow.

"Which one is your favorite?" she asked.

"Well," he said, wearing a large grin, "I'm a little partial to _Excalibur_. My first assignment as an Ensign was aboard a ship of the same name, and even though she was decommissioned a few years ago, I've always believed that the fleet should always keep that name alive. If I have my way, 1701 will be named _Excalibur_."

"For our viewers who are unaware, the _Excalibur_ that Admiral Winslow is referring to was the same ship that led the fleet at the battle of Algeron during the Romulan war," Polly supplied the information before continuing, "Have they selected a captain for the _Constitution_?"

"Not yet. Though we do have several candidates in mind," Winslow replied.

"Can you talk about these candidates?" she asked.

He shifted very slightly, trying not to say too much while also trying to remember each candidate's name. If he mentioned one and not the other, the candidates could misinterpret it negatively. "Let me say that I'm not on the review board for the Bureau of Ships, so my knowledge of the list of potential captains is by circumstance. But some of the names I recall were Captain Alexander Ybarra, Captain Robert April, and Commander Christopher Pike. All of the candidates being considered are good officers and very capable commanders."

"Commander Pike?" said Polly with a strange look on her face.

"Should Commander Pike be selected, he would receive a promotion to Captain, I'm sure. The rate and class requires a ranked captain to assume permanent command."

"I don't understand."

Winslow blinked. Of course not, he thought. How would he best explain it? "For every class of ship, and this is not just in Starfleet, but in the navies of tradition, each class or rate has a requirement of rank. For example, the Antares-class is considered to be a light cruiser by contemporary standards, so it is to be commanded by either a Commander or a Captain. But the minimum rank necessary to be requested and required to assume command would be a Commander. For a frigate, it would be a Lieutenant Commander, and for a corvette it would be a Lieutenant."

"But they are all Captains?"

"By title, but not by rank."

She opened her mouth with an understanding look on her face, as though the cloud of confusion had been lifted. "Why wouldn't the rank and title match?"

"One would not expect someone of a senior rank to be assigned to a position below his seniority. A captain by rank would not be assigned to command a corvette because an officer of that many years and experience would be best utilized on a vessel of appropriate size and armament."

It was enough exploration off the line of questioning; her curiosity was satisfied at the expense of time. The prompter warned her to return to the questions, but as she looked at the admiral, he did not seem to mind the follow-ups and he actually appeared more animated when discussing tradition than he had about the first couple of questions. She looked up briefly to refresh her memory as to the next question and continued the interview, "Do you agree with some of your colleagues at the new Starfleet Headquarters in Sausalito that the purpose of the Agency has become redundant as Starfleet has assumed more and more of the duties responsible for the Agency's creation?"

"Uh, well, I am seeing more and more Starfleet personnel coming in and out of the UESPA administration building in San Francisco than I had when I first arrived to take on this assignment," Winslow looked away from her to think about his answer. He pronounced the acronym as "yew-spah" as opposed to saying each individual letter. "I wouldn't be surprised if Starfleet replaced the Agency outright in the next ten to twenty years. That is to say, since the UESPA registry has fallen out of use and Starfleet has grown out of its infancy in the past fifty years to build up a fleet worthy of the Federation charter."

"What would happen to the men and women who are employed by the Agency?"

"I can't speak intelligently to the options they would have, but I'm sure Starfleet would not displace the hard working members to fend for themselves. Starfleet also employs a great many civilian contractors, even more than the Agency does," he replied.

"How would you respond to the criticism that replacing the Agency with a military command would be a step backwards?" she needled him, returning to a hostile question.

Winslow sighed inwardly, trying to keep his patience and not lose his temper. "The founding principle of the United Earth Space Probe Agency was the search for extraterrestrial resources in the solar system. It was not exploration of deep space, but a necessary search for more resources to consume on Earth. At the very beginning, we sent the United Earth Marine Expeditionary Forces to act as the exploration arm, and those Marines fell under a military command." He paused to lean forward and raised his hand once more, "Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to justify a militarization of every exploration arm that the Federation has; we still have civilian explorers acting on behalf of the Federation even today. But unifying the chain of command insofar as Starfleet's exploration programs are concerned is a more efficient method of carrying out the missions we've been charged with. Having to answer to UESPA Administration as well as Starfleet Command can cause a great deal of confusion, and as history can attest, can hold some rather disastrous consequences in certain situations."

Deciding that she had explored that topic sufficiently for her audience, Polly moved on to the next topic, and one that she found most of her subjects loved to talked about: themselves. "What exactly is your role in the construction of the new ship, Admiral?"

"Lately, it seems I've been drafted into public relations," He smiled as they shared a fake laugh. "It's been a long couple of years and in that time I have been donning various hats in that time. At the beginning, I was simply an advisor to the starship design board as a commodore. I had just been relieved of my command to accept a desk job here in San Francisco. Following that, I have moved from an advisory role to a more interactive position as the liaison officer. Since the Agency has a great interest in seeing the _Constitution_ completed, they have relied on me to provide them with daily on-site updates. Secretly, I'm hoping they'll let me handle the new ship for the shakedown."

Polly nodded her understanding, moving on to the next question on the list, "Are there any specific exploration programs that are in progress or about to commence?"

"One of the programs we are going to put into motion once the _Constitution_ is put into service, is the five-year exploration program. See, when we designed these new ships, it was with the intention to put them into deep space for extended durations; anywhere between one to two years before it would be necessary for the ship to either be resupplied or dock with a Starbase." He reached for the glass of water they supplied on the small end table between the chairs.

"Five years is a long time for a ship to be out of contact, Admiral."

As he swallowed his mouthful, he conceded that fact with a small shrug, "We send out the border patrol on similar durations. I think the longest any single ship has been assigned to border duty without reassignment is four years. However, and I think this is the more important part of the missions, rather than fly back and forth over the same sector of space, we're sending four hundred people out to the depths of space with the intention to make discoveries and explore the unknown. But the nature of the mission does make our intention to serve the mission of peaceful exploration very clear."

* * *

The biting cold of the foggy San Franciscan morning forced Winslow to shiver and pull the top of his bulky peacoat all the way up, until the gold velour of his uniform could barely be seen. The material of the overcoat was thick wool that had brass buttons and the single star and anchor on both shoulders. On his head he wore the matching officer's white cap, with the "scrambled eggs" on the black brim. From a distance, he looked out of place and time, as though some unseen force had scooped him from the late twentieth century San Francisco and deposited him upon the sidewalk. 

Outside of the main entrance to the Federation News Network studio complex at Van Ness and Lombard, he was only a few blocks south of the UESPA Administration Complex, which resided at the North Point corner of the same street. If he wished to, he would brave the bitter cold and walk it as he had done several times in the past. Today, however, his destination was not his office, but the new headquarters facility for Starfleet.

Hailing a cab, he made his way across the Golden Gate Bridge, obscured from view by the rolling fog, and found himself walking across the recent redesign of the United Federation of Planets' insignia, the olive branches framing a starfield made up of white dots against a blue grid. Starfleet's plethora of various insignias was confusing to him. The insignia for both the Starbase Operations and Starfleet Command were one and the same; the gold "flower" design he wore over his left chest, it was something every officer assigned to Earth wore. The most confusing aspect to Winslow was in the regulation that each starship would employ their own insignia, and upon that insignia would hold the Starfleet sanctioned divisional emblem. Visiting starship crewmen were easy to spot in the crowd on Earth, but remembering which insignia belong to which starship became an exercise in futility.

Although he had no office at Headquarters, Admiral Winslow's presence was expected on the admiralty levels of the main office complex every day. He was not required to report in to any particular command in an official capacity, but he did have to make his presence known so as to maintain his political visibility to the other admirals. When the doors parted to allow him to step into the main reception area for Starfleet Operations, a vice admiral with silvering chestnut hair and green eyes smiled as he recognized him.

"Cliff," Vice Admiral James Komack greeted him, "good to see you."

"Sir," he nodded with a similarly warm smile. Admiral Komack was his sponsor on the promotion review board, the flag officer directly responsible for handing him not only his promotion to rear admiral, but his elevation to captaincy. Even though they had known each other for almost twenty years, Cliff Winslow could never bring himself to addressing his senior by anything other than "sir."

"How're things over at UESPA today?"

"I don't know, sir. I came here straight from the interview."

Komack pointed a finger toward the left corridor from the receptionist's station, indicating he wished to walk and talk in that direction, "We caught that on the news feed." He teased the rear admiral, "You did very well for someone who swore he would never spend more than five minutes talking to the press."

Cliff Winslow shrugged, "I don't make a habit of it, sir."

"Who does?" Komack walked into his office and gestured to a seat in front of him, "While I have you here, Cliff, I did want to discuss something pretty important with you."

Winslow made himself comfortable, looking at his former commanding officer with a question in his eyes. "Of course, sir."

The vice admiral heaved a heavy sigh as he sat down behind his desk, "I spoke with Ziggy and Sam Jacobs this morning on my way in to the office." Ziggy was actually Rear Admiral (upper half) Misha Ziganov, while Samantha Jacobs was the rear admiral who served as the vice chairman of the review board. "We talked about the candidacy list for _Constitution_'s skipper. I'm sorry, Cliff, but they disqualified you."

From across Komack's desk, it was now Winslow's turn to sigh. "I was afraid of that. Did they say why, sir?"

"They did, but you're not going to like it."

"I think I'm entitled to hear the reason, regardless of whether or not I'll like or dislike it, sir."

Jim Komack looked down, unable to face Winslow as he spoke, "You're too senior for the position, and they want to give her to a younger officer."

Winslow did not say anything in response, dropping his own gaze to the edge of the desk and keeping it there as he sat insulted.

"I really am sorry, Cliff. I know you wanted that command," Admiral Komack tried to console him.

"Is there any chance of reconsideration?"

Komack sighed, "I suppose so, but I'm not sure what you could do to make them change their minds."

"A charge of discrimination, for one."

"You're kidding."

"Sir, if they're going to disqualify me because I'm too old, then that's a violation of policy."

The vice admiral stopped to consider the severity of Winslow's words, "You're going to bring charges against two admirals?"

Admiral Winslow nodded, "You're damned right I am, sir."

Komack rose from his seat, his expression perplexed. Of course, he had written off the reason as being acceptable to him, but not the ethics surrounding it. Age discrimination was the obvious interpretation Winslow had made and if it was that easy to jump to that conclusion, it would stand to reason that others would as well. "Before you start making any calls to the Inspector General, Cliff, let's go down and talk with Ziggy and Sam. We'll give them the opportunity to reconsider before they make the new list official."

Cliff Winslow stood from his seat, ready to follow the vice admiral to the offices being occupied by their colleagues. As he watched Komack speak to his chief of staff, he recalled the first memory of stepping aboard the _Aldeberan_ as a lieutenant commander and meeting the legendary Captain Komack. He was a personable commander; a change of pace from the strict nature of his former command. With such a personality and the accompanying character that drove it seemed to stir the loyalty from his crew, Winslow felt comfortable in less than a week after reporting for duty as the chief of operations. Two years later, he would serve as the executive officer, and eventually assume command of the ship when Komack accepted the promotion to the admiralty.

It was Komack who convinced Winslow to consider the admiralty. "For the good of the service," he had told him. Even though he had met and served with a group of hard-working individuals, being chained to a desk and watching Starfleet evolve beyond you was getting to him. Unlike Komack, who played the political game very well, Cliff had no use for playing that game and instead envisioned himself on the bridge of the _Constitution_, out in deep space and away from the games that admirals play. With an ally like Komack at Headquarters, his position as captain of a starship would allow him to pursue missions he felt were at the heart of the very program he helped to create.

His entry on the list of candidates for captain was a long shot, but he believed that Starfleet would give him as fair a shake as they had the other captains. He might have been the only flag officer to cast his bid for the honor of commanding the new ship, and surely not the most qualified, but it would have been far more understandable to disqualify him because of a lack of skill rather than a lack of youth. Winslow began to try and understand the reasoning behind the unfair decision, and could not come up with anything that would calm the raging fury he kept well in check. Cliff would let Admiral Komack do the talking, not saying anything until it was time. He did not trust himself to speak to either admiral.

Rear Admirals Misha Ziganov and Samantha Jacobs were in his office, holding a private discussion with the updated list of candidates being displayed on the large viewer opposite the bay windows looking out over the San Francisco Bay from the south end of the office building. Both of them had an empty cup in front of them with an open box of pastries and a large pot.

Ziganov was the first to rise when Komack entered, "Hello, Jim, Admiral Winslow. What brings you two down here?" His accent was one of a modern Russian, thick but not enough to cause a problem in understanding him when he spoke.

Admiral Komack smiled, "I was just talking to Cliff about your findings, and he voiced some concerns over the ethical nature to them."

Jacobs' shared a look with Ziganov before deciding to respond for the both of them. "Ethical? What do you mean?"

"He feels that your decision to disqualify him was not based on his skill as a captain."

"Is that so?" Jacobs' replied, now seemingly recognizing Winslow for the first time since he entered the office. "And a threat of a charge now hangs over the review board? Hardly an honorable method of asking us to reconsider his application, Jim."

The vice admiral raised a hand to silence Cliff, whom he knew was about to allow his temper to rise to the surface. "I don't think this is the proper time to be casting stones, Admiral Jacobs." Komack's use of her rank brought the matter into perspective. Vice Admiral Komack was the deputy chief of personnel for Starfleet Operations."

"Be that as it may, sir," said Ziganov, "we have already made our decision."

Winslow cast his anger aside in favor of honest curiosity, "Who?"

"We were going to submit our recommendation to the Bureau of Ships tomorrow, but I don't see any reason to not tell you," came the reply from Ziganov. "Matthew Decker is our choice."

Komack appeared to approve of that decision. Decker was one of the rising stars in Starfleet; he had the experience and had proven himself many times over to be a capable captain. This would be quite a promotion for the young man.

"My objection stands, Admirals," said Winslow quietly.

Jacobs frowned, "That is your right, Admiral Winslow. However, we feel we made the right choice."

"If that is the case, then barring my age or seniority, what other skill or experience do I lack?" Winslow asked.

"Admiral Winslow, I don't wish to seem as though we do not recognize your service record simply because you are an admiral," Ziganov began, folding his arms, "and you lack no skill that either of us could determine."

Jim Komack shrugged, "Then what's the problem?"

"We found Commander Decker to be the best candidate for the job," he replied.

The vice admiral turned to look at Winslow, as if to ask if he was satisfied with their response.

Rear Admiral Winslow took a deep breath, as though he were about to resign himself to the fact that he would not command _Constitution_. "I know this is somewhat irregular, but would you do me the favor of reconsidering my candidacy before announcing your decision in any official capacity?"

"Why is this so important to you?" asked Jacobs. "You realize that in order to accept command, you would have to take a reduction in rank to Commodore."

"I'm aware of that fact. To be honest, I welcome it." Winslow replied with an affirming nod. "Admirals, I stand here before you as a simple ship handler, nothing more. I've spent two years behind a desk, one as a commodore and the other as a rear admiral. My experience in working alongside you has taught me one thing: I've no desire to continue here. The only interest I find in my position is the fact that I am helping to bring about what will be the most important step that Starfleet will take. To my dismay, I fear that I will be left behind to watch others make those strides. I want to be there, not here. I only ask that you reconsider me for the position, and let me return to a position where I know I can make a difference."

Komack exhaled, not realizing he was holding his breath as Winslow spoke. "I didn't know you felt that way, Cliff." He looked to the two admirals, "I don't want to tell you how to do your jobs, but I urge to take his statement into heavy consideration before making your final decision. I know Admiral Winslow will not disappoint you."

Ziganov rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered Winslow's words, "Perhaps this bears further deliberation. Would you agree, Admiral Jacobs?"

"I think it's a little unfair to the other candidates, sir," she replied.

"Privilege of rank. Admiral Winslow is the most senior officer on your list," Komack pointed out. "I'm sure it would mean a great deal to the others to know that he was willing to put aside his rank and position to return to space duty. I know Matt Decker and Bob April would. They would step aside for Cliff Winslow, if you asked them to. Besides, there will be plenty of new ships to go around in the coming months and years. They've waited quite some time for those opportunities, but I think Cliff's waited a little longer than they have."

Jacobs relented, "Very well. I think that with the recommendation of Admiral Komack, there can be no other question as to whom our choice will be."

"We will announce Admiral Winslow's appointment to command a week from Friday," Admiral Ziganov decided. He stretched out a hand to Winslow, "My apologies to you, Admiral. Please understand that we had no intention of besmirching your record or accomplishments. We do appreciate you bringing this to our attention." It was not exactly the truth, but when you apparently have the support of a vice admiral, it was the politically correct thing to do.

Winslow accepted the proffered hand regardless, "Thank you for listening to me, sir."

* * *

The thin plastic covering over the center seat on the incomplete bridge of the _Constitution_ made a soft crinkling noise as he sat down in what was to be his chair for the next five years. Visiting the ship was something he did every day, and yet today the bridge seemed a little different to him. Everything about the starship appeared to be a little better than it had in the past, when he would be found wandering the completed decks, admiring the handiwork and the sheer size of her. Always knowing then that it was a strong possibility he would never have the chance to stand on her bridge as master and commander. A return to deep space had been exactly what his heart desired, and now Starfleet would afford him the opportunity to do just that. 

A familiar laugh erupted from within the turbolift, as the doors slid aside to admit the officer. "Couldn't wait?" His British accent was unmistakable, as was the light brown mop of hair atop his head with the silver lining the edges of his sideburns. He did not look like an imposing man, though the flecks of green in his large hazel eyes were very noticeable. The officer was a captain, wearing the dual gold bars along the cuffs of his gold uniform tunic. Upon his chest was the starship insignia of the USS _Betelgeuse_, another product of the Antares-class.

Winslow smiled widely at the officer, genuinely happy to see him again, "Bob! What the hell are you doing here? I didn't know your ship was in the neighborhood." He very nearly hugged the man, and instead opted for a very enthusiastic handshake. "How are you? How is Sarah doing?"

Captain Robert April chuckled at Winslow, "We're both doing fine. Sarah's down at Bethesda Medical Center, visiting a colleague of hers." Doctor Sarah April, his wife, also served as the chief medical officer of the _Betelgeuse_. He leaned in with a conspiratorial tone, he asked, "Do you have a few minutes to chat, or would you rather I leave you two alone?" He gestured at the bridge.

"No, no, please stay. I haven't had a chance to sit and talk with you in…" The admiral paused as he contemplated the number of years, "Has it really been three years?"

"More like four, but who cares?" April took a seat at the engineering monitoring station and sighed. "I spoke with Admiral Komack an hour ago. I know I'm not supposed to know, but I understand that you've been awarded the command we were all chasing after."

"Jesus, Bob. I'm sorry about that," Cliff tried to say.

"Oh, that's bull and you know it. You fought tooth and nail to get her, and I for one am damn glad of it."

"Come again?"

April scratched at the top of his head, "How do I put this without sounding as though I only speak in clichés? To hell with it. Alex Ybarra and I think it's about time you got back on the horse. I don't know about Matt Decker, but I think a lot of the older captains feel the same way."

Winslow smiled, "That's a hell of a thing to say to me, Bob."

"Would you rather I socked you in the face?"

"I was expecting you to be a little miffed, is all," the rear admiral mocked the captain, putting on a horrible accent.

Captain April shook his head while chuckling once more, "It wasn't deep space without you, Cliff."

There was a pause in the exchange; long enough for them to acknowledge it was time for a new topic to discuss. Winslow asked plainly, "So, are you going to remain on the _Betelgeuse_ for now?"

"For now," nodded April. "Until the third ship is finished. They've decided to give Matt Decker the one-oh-seventeen ship. I'm to command seventeen-oh-one; I think it's a blessing. I don't like this idea of using the abandoned hull numbers, I think it's bad luck."

Winslow blinked, his tone incredulous, "They've decided all of this already?"

"If the project holds, they have already determined the captain of the next six ships of the line." Bob smiled, "They told me that Decker's pushing to have his ship be commissioned as the _Constellation_."

Admiral Winslow looked toward the captain's chair for a moment, just before sitting himself down to rest while conversing. "That's a nice name. I don't think it would have been the one I would have chosen."

"Nor I. I've always been fond of the name _Indefatigable_."

"For me, it's got to be _Excalibur_," Cliff's tone was one of awe.

Bob laughed, slapping his knee. "I'm sorry, Cliff. Not that I don't like your choice, but you say it with such reverence." He cleared his throat at the admiral's admonishing glare, "Seriously, it's a good name for a ship, Rear Admiral, sir."

Cliff could not help but laugh at the captain's sudden attention to protocol, even if it was in jest. "Is that the name you really intend to use for seventeen-oh-one?"

Robert April gave a slight shrug, "I'm not entirely sure of that, yet. Even if they're accepting our suggestions seriously, I'm not sure which name to choose. Every ship I've commanded so far already had a name, so it's a little daunting to select one for my next command. Look at it this way; I won't be the last captain of that ship and it has to be a name that each subsequent captain would be proud of."

"I see what you mean, there," replied Cliff, having not really given it as much thought as Bob had.

"When you name a ship, you're putting a name to a legacy. The name has to mean something more than the ship, I think that it has to set the expectations properly for the crew to live up to," April went on. "Like _Excalibur_. There's a name you could set your expectations by."

"There certainly is a lot of prestige, I won't disagree there."

A small smile hung upon April's lips. "I put a lot on your plate, didn't I? Having second thoughts about the name of your ship, are we?"

"No…" he replied quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. "No," he repeated, a little louder. "Though, when you consider history, the name _Constitution_ is certainly one that falls into that category, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," said April, with folded arms and a slight nod.

"But I think that it's time there was a _Constitution_ serving in the fleet. There hasn't been one since the late eighteenth century," Winslow voiced his thoughts. "It's still a floating museum on the east coast."

"Yes, it is," Bob said, rising up from his seat to look around the bridge. He ran his hands over the helm and navigator positions, admiring the advanced controls and the swing arm communications devices. "I must say that I am looking forward to having one of these of my own. You did a pretty fair job of telling them way they should lay these quarterdecks out."

A lot of the new bridge layout was largely due to the suggestions that Winslow made to the design team. It was a departure from the standard designs, with the command station in the center and all of the support stations facing outward in a circle. On the older bridges, the layout was less centralized and required the captain or the officer of the deck to divide his time between the conning station and the information center. There was something to be said for being able to have direct contact with the officers you entrust with the running of your ship, and it was a belief that both officers shared.

"So, Bob, where are you off to once your ship comes off leave?" Winslow asked. "Back out into deep space for another two years?"

"I'm afraid not." Bob sat down at the helm station, "Jim Komack has asked me to visit Admiral Leighton to discuss the possibility of accepting a position at Headquarters." Off of Winslow's shocked expression, he chuckled, "Don't worry, I know what I'm getting in to. I spend a year here on Earth, Sarah gets to see her family for a while and then we ship out on the new ship."

"Really? Which position did he have in mind?"

"Why yours, of course. Since you're leaving, there will be an opening. The Agency has made it clear that they want experienced deep space officers in the liaison position. If it gets me a ship in the long run, I'm willing to take over."

Cliff smiled at Bob as he offered his advice about dealing with James Komack by explaining what had happened to him when he had a discussion with the very charismatic admiral. "He gave me the speech about doing what's best for the fleet, and serving as best as I could for the future of the explorer fleet. He told me that as a liaison, I would have the ability to directly affect Starfleet in the best way possible." The admiral had asked him to consider that before turning down what was going to be a move that would further his career.

"Sounds vaguely familiar," admitted April, resting his head against his palm. "Do you think I'm making a mistake, then?"

"I didn't say that, Bob. I just think that you need keep your head on straight before Jim Komack performs his cheerleading act and talks about taking one for the team," Winslow warned. "The first six months were very nice, I'll admit. Having all of the comforts of home right at your fingertips is something a man could get used to, but then after having spent a great deal of time living in a sardine can with almost two hundred people, you get used to the close sense of community. I lived in my apartment complex for almost two years and I think I know my next-door neighbors' first name."

April did not say anything, listening to his friend speak. He tried to think about that, having considered returning to Earth a blessing. Sarah had told him that she could try for a year of residency at Bethesda or even Stanford Medical, as they would live in the San Francisco Bay Area. Would they adjust to living in an apartment? Maybe, he thought. He hoped they would fare better than Cliff. The fact that Sarah would be with him did not paint too dark of a picture. Perhaps that was Cliff's problem; he was alone.

"All I'm saying is," Cliff said, "I think my time at the Agency is done, and it's time for me to go back to where I really belong."

Robert April smiled at him, "Where we all belong, old friend."

* * *

"It's now coming up to the top of hour and we're catching our first glimpses of the newest starship to join Starfleet's exploration command, the USS _Constitution_," said Polly Kinsella, her curly hair straightened and trimmed shorter then it had been a month earlier during the interview with Winslow. The visual feed from the dockyard displayed a live image of the starship still housed by the large construction frame. 

"The ship completed her warp trials and shakedown cruises yesterday, passing with flying colors according to the release handed out by the United Earth Space Probe Agency. The commissioning ceremony has just concluded and we are now going to switch live to our field reporter Norman Stenseland, who is on the observation deck of the _Constitution_, where the commanding officer, Commodore Heathcliff Winslow will read aloud his orders to assume command. Norman?"

The scene switched immediately to show a human male with thinning blonde hair and a cheery expression wearing a headset. His baritone voice echoed his demeanor, though deep and booming, it was keep as light as he could manage while making his report, "Thank you, Polly. We're about to witness the official reading of the orders by Commodore Winslow."

When the view changed to bring the commodore into focus, he smiled at the assembled members of his crew and the division heads standing before him, and turned to acknowledged the admirals and captains that stood behind him as he gripped the podium. "I'd like to begin by thanking the members of the United Earth Space Probe Agency for making all of this possible. Without their guidance and support to Starfleet, I don't believe we could have achieved what we have here in the _Constitution_." He paused to allow the audience to applaud.

"Starfleet was founded just over eighty years ago, and in that time we've been charged with many missions on behalf of the Federation. We protect the borders; we've carried out missions of mercy. We've fought two wars, and at the same time we continue to maintain the fragile peace we all worked so hard to create by bringing an end to them. Every starship that flies the flag of the Federation, and the men and women who are stationed aboard her are entrusted with the responsibility of furthering the goals that we set down on paper in 2161.

"About four hundred sixty-nine years ago, a group of men driven by the desire to live free in the face of tyranny gathered in a modest hall in Pennsylvania to set down on paper the basic rights of every man. In order to separate from their mother country, a brutal war erupted which resulted in the new nation known as the United States of America. In 1812, Great Britain made another attempt to reclaim their lost territory and it was then that the sailing frigate _Constitution_ made a name for herself.

"In the afternoon hours of August the Nineteenth of that year, the _Constitution_ engaged the HMS _Guerriere_ east of Boston. It was a battle that began as a stalemate based upon the sheer maneuverability of the frigates and after some time, the two ships decide to square off with broadside shots. One of the shots from the British ship was reported to have bounced off of the wooden side of the _Constitution_, and cries out, "Huzzah! Her sides are made of iron!" Twenty minutes into the short-range exchange, the _Guerriere_'s mizzenmast falls, and the battle resulted with Ol' Ironsides as the victor."

Commodore Winslow took a moment to look at Captain April and his wife, Sarah. They stood the furthest away, near the other future captains of this Starship-class fleet who could make the ceremony. He shared a knowing smile with Bob and Sarah, both of whom already knew the contents of his speech to the crew and to the people watching on the live news feeds. "The history lesson comes in whole from a conversation I had with an old friend of mine. He reminded me of why we place such a high value upon the naming of a ship. We have here the opportunity to take a large step forward into the future of Starfleet, the _Constitution_ and all those who follow are the vehicles that will make that a reality for us.

"Our future history will be remembered by the names we give our ships, just as we look back in our most recent years and remember names such as _Excalibur_, _Phoenix_, and _Enterprise_. They represent the best part of us, and in turn they present to our legacy the challenge of bringing good fortune and continuing the success that their predecessors have achieved. The USS _Constitution_'s predecessor lies manned and ready by historians in Charleston Harbor in North America. She's survived the centuries through the meticulous care of those she comes into contact with because with her comes the tradition and history that binds us all by the same principle that the United Federation of Planets stands for. Freedom."

He smiled, looking down at his notes, coming to the end of his speech. "To Commodore Heathcliff G. Winslow. You are hereby requested and required to assume command of NCC-1700, USS _Constitution_, effective as of this date. Signed, Rear Admiral (upper half) Misha Ziganov, Starfleet Command." Cliff looked over to the operator manning the computer station and nodded his head toward him.

The operator flicked a switch on his console and the computer spoke aloud immediately, "Working." It's voice was that of a female's, a departure from the annoying tenor male voice of the Antares-class, but the voice was devoid of any personality and seemed to speak in a single tone.

"Computer, this is Commodore Winslow. I am assuming command, by order of Starfleet Command," intoned Winslow.

"Working. Initialization of command function requires admiralty verification."

One of the admirals stepped forward, smiling toward his friend at the podium and offered his assistance. "This is Vice Admiral James Komack, Starfleet Command. Commodore Winslow's command is verified."

"Voiceprint verified. Initialization complete," the computer seemed to take a bit of time to process the order before announcing the result. "NCC-1700, USS _Constitution_ is now under the command of Commodore Heathcliff Winslow. All command authorization codes have been transferred."

The cheering and applause from the assembled crowd was thunderous. Winslow looked at them, a small blush beginning to form at the enthusiasm. His modesty demanded that they not call attention to him, but then he realized that the ovation was not for him. It was for Starfleet, and what they were setting out to do. It was for the exploration missions, and venturing out into the stars and return home with the discoveries and knowledge that they yielded. It was for the _Constitution_ and the sister ships in the dockyard nearby, like Matt Decker's _Constellation_ and Robert April's _Enterprise_. That realization brought his hands together as he joined in the celebration of not just the future, but to those who came before and blazed the trail to the stars.

Admiral Komack accepted the cloth-covered rectangle from his chief of staff, and with only a small bit of dramatic flair, the dedication plaque for the ship was unveiled in a single motion. He handed it to Winslow, who held it above his head in triumph, as it read:

**U.S.S. CONSTITUTION  
Starship Class  
San Francisco Fleet Yards**


	5. Dallas

**The Quarterdeck Breed  
By Michael D. Garcia**

**Part Four: _Dallas_**

NCC-31357 (USS _Dallas_)  
Dominion-held territory relative to Federation Sector 117-Gamma  
En route to Starbase 375  
Stardate 51901.54

The siren of the battlestations klaxon filled the air as the atmosphere on the bridge matched the heightened state of alert all over the ship. Scarlet light from the emergency systems fell across the faces of the bridge crew at their stations, monitoring the flight of their ship as it sped between the stars at one thousand five hundred sixteen times the speed of light. Evasion and maneuvering appeared the only way to win against their attacker, and with the minor damage sustained in the last confrontation, it seemed as though all hope was lost that day.

Commander Emoni Lau gripped the edges of the arms of her chair in the center of the bridge as she watched the aft view from the main viewscreen. It had been fifteen minutes since she gave the order to retreat from the sector, but the single Jem'Hadar attack cruiser decided to be tenacious about its quarry. Its image was at the center of the sensor output on the screen, reminding them that it would be a difficult task to evade and return to fight tomorrow.

Lau looked to her acting executive officer, seated at the bridge operations console between her and the viewscreen. He was a lanky full lieutenant named Ken Ushiyama, thrust into the role by the death of his predecessor. Like her, he was weary of running every time they were outnumbered, often voicing his desire to stand and fight their way out of the situation. It was the order of the sector admiral that they evade capture, as the information they were bringing back to the starbase was of vital importance to the effort against the Dominion.

"Maintaining speed at warp nine, sir," said the officer at the helm in a very thick alto tone. The tall and willowy Lieutenant Phendara was the only Andorian officer aboard the ship, and her reputation preceded her as one of the fleet's finest pilots. Her efforts over the past forty-eight hours had solidified that reputation, as she manipulated the flight controls of the light cruiser with such amazing skill. The decision to name her as the ship's chief helmsman was a sound one given her innate talents.

From the engineering monitoring station, the short and chubby young lady with the short black hair reminded the captain, "At our present speed, with the damage we've sustained, we will have to do a cold shutdown of the warp core in twenty-seven minutes." Petty Officer Second Class Odessa McComas was standing in as one of the assistant engineering chiefs, despite her junior enlisted rank, as manpower grew shorter and shorter with each and every mission.

Emoni did not look at the petty officer to acknowledge her, "Understood." It would mean that they would fall short of their destination by a large margin. If they lost warp capability or slowed to allow the Jem'Hadar to catch up, the ship would be lost. She pushed up from her chair and put a sweaty hand on top of her exec's shoulder, "Might as well pull out all the stops, Ken. Let's see if we can get in touch with the _Agamemnon_. I want to see Hank Grayum's face on the viewscreen."

The risk was indeed a great one. Though the Jem'Hadar was pursuing them and no doubt the Dominion knew exactly where they were, the fact that they were alone and intruding that far into enemy territory was something known only to Starfleet Command and Rear Admiral Ross. Contacting another Federation starship would be in direct contravention to their orders. Emoni Lau knew it would probably end her career, even under these circumstances, but the safety of her ship and the information they risked their lives for had to be paramount above raising suspicion among their peers.

Not wasting any time, Ken keyed in the secured channel onto his station and began to encrypt the transmission. "USS _Dallas_ to USS _Agamemnon_, Captain Lau sends her compliments to Captain Grayum. Come in, _Agamemnon_."

Phendara nodded to the screen, "I think our pursuers have raised the stakes, sir. They've increased speed and will overtake us in ninety seconds." The image of the enemy craft began to loom a little larger as the distance between the ships shortened.

"Odessa, stoke the fires. We're going to need everything you can give us," Lau said as she released Ken's shoulder and returned to her seat, her motion suggesting that her presence there would will the ship to outrun the Jem'Hadar. Before the engineer could offer any protest, she looked at Odessa and made it clear, "No complaints, just get it done."

Ushiyama decided to make his suggestion, after reporting that there was no response from the _Agamemnon_. "Sir, it's just one cruiser. We should make a stand here."

"Much as I want to, Ken. We have our orders," Emoni's soprano tone was as apologetic as she could make it under the circumstances. As the ship appeared to grow in size on the viewscreen, a plan formed in her mind. "Perhaps we can slow them down a bit. Mister Kirk, let's throw a little bit of a jolt to them. Ready a salvo of quantum torpedoes, maximum yield and stand by to fire them at our friends over there."

The tactical officer, a junior grade lieutenant who had the misfortune of studying at the Academy with the same surname as the legendary Starfleet officer, Jonas Theodore Kirk, nodded at the order, "Readying torpedoes, sir." Once the display satisfied his commands, he turned to the captain from his station and replied that the projectiles were ready to be launched. "Target, sir?"

"Proximity fuses, Lieutenant. I want them to detonate as close to their shields as possible without touching. I need them blinded by a series of wide radius explosions," the captain ordered. She crossed over to Kirk's console and explained a little more clearly, "It should blank out the sensors with interference for a few minutes, enough time for us to alter course. Phendara, what's around here that we can use for cover?"

Her blue hands danced across her computer console as she plotted courses to various stellar bodies. "I have a star system within five minutes travel. It's a white star, with three planets… and an asteroid field. It's the closest option." Phendara tapped her console a few more times, "But we have to move fast."

Ken suggested, "We should also divert as much power to the aft shield generators as a precaution. Those torpedoes are not going to direct their energy at the Jem'Hadar." In fact, the blast pattern was likely to be a lot closer than he would like, given the recent acceleration of the attacking cruiser. Moments after voicing his concern, the sensor information on his display alerted him to the fact that, "The Jem'Hadar have acquired a weapons lock. They're charging weapons and are preparing to fire."

Lau ordered, "Reconfigure shield power as Ken suggested. Fire torpedoes."

Twin dots of blue-white light flew away from the lower portion of the main viewscreen out toward the Jem'Hadar. Within seconds, they traversed the distance between the two ships and when the warheads split from their respective housings into the desired number of eight, they exploded in such a brilliant light that it filled the screen entirely and brought the bridge from the dim scarlet into bright sapphire.

Ken called out, "Brace for impact!" His warning gave the others a couple of seconds to do just that as the shockwave impacted against the reinforced shields on the aft quarter. Warnings and alerts from the various bridge stations began to go off as _Dallas_ endured the energy output.

The deck vibrated slightly at first, and then the vibration became furiously violent. Emoni tried with all of her might to maintain her standing position against the tactical station, gripping the edge of the console with white-knuckled hands. She turned her head to see that the other officers had not fared as well; Ken had failed to maintain his grip on the operations station and lay less than a meter away from his chair while Phendara had decided to rest her upper body against the helm.

Once the shockwave had passed, she called out, "Is everyone all right?" Relaxing her hands and walking over to help Ken up from the deck and back into his seat, everyone on the bridge appeared to only suffer some minor bumps and bruises as they mumbled their well being to her. "McComas, I need a damage report. Phendara, are we still on course?"

"Stand by, Captain," the helmsman said, looking at her display. "This is a little difficult to tell, but I'm showing we're on course toward that star system based on our position before the shockwave hit. We're maintaining our speed at warp nine."

"Status of the Jem'Hadar?"

Ken scanned the ship to aft, "Sensors are having a hell of a time getting through that interference, but they're proceeding on the same trajectory toward Federation space, as far as I can tell." He moved to the side to show Emoni exactly what he was seeing. The captain leaned over to witness the interference pattern playing across his screens.

"I have a preliminary damage report, sir," said McComas. Not waiting for Lau to respond, she listed the affected systems as quickly as possible, "The shield generators took the biggest hit, the power feedback shorted the deflector grid on the aft quarter. The primary structural integrity field generators are offline. The long-range communications transceiver array has been destroyed. The rest of this is mostly physical hull damage across the aft sections of decks four through ten."

Lau said, "Thank you." Returning to her chair while gripping her left fist with her right hand, she tried not to dwell too much on the dent she just put in their chances of a safe return. Hiding out within the asteroid field in enemy territory to make repairs sustained from torpedoes fired from her own tubes! She decided that now was not the time for her to begin admonishing herself for her mistakes. Emoni looked at Ken's back, taking a deep breath in relief that he was not wounded or worse. Losing her executive officer during the first attempt to gather information was bad enough, to lose two of her senior officers in a single mission was unthinkable to her.

Lieutenant Kenneth Ushiyama had become a fast friend among the bridge crew, with the captain in particular. He proved himself to be competent as the operations officer, while knowing when to take things seriously and when not to. Ken's sense of humor seemed to be his trademark, and it was very well received on the bridge. The previous executive officer had not fit in so quickly with everyone, due to the fact that she was a Vulcan who maintained her distance on a personal level, seeking solitude in her off hours and interfacing with the crew so long as it was of a professional nature. Emoni did not wish to think ill of the dead, but she was beginning to prefer Ken's personality to T'Nala's lack of one. In the six months he had been assigned to the ship, she had come to know and respect Ken a great deal, and when it was time to let her hair down, they engaged in a far more intimate relationship that was agreed between them would have no further development than mutual satisfaction.

It was probably a violation of protocol, she had tried to caution herself when they decided to pursue that kind of relationship, but some of the missions and risks they took on behalf of Starfleet and the Federation put them above those constraints in her eyes. Barring that, they were both adults, and how they spent their off-duty hours was of their concern and no one else's. Emoni did not fool herself into believing that the crew was ignorant to their activities, but then they also had never flaunted that knowledge. So long as they maintained a modicum of respect for that, she did not care. There was one fact she was sure of, and that was that the other members of _Dallas'_ crew were also finding pleasure in entertaining themselves in a similar vein.

"What's our ETA?" Emoni asked of Phendara.

"Two minutes, sir."

"Status of our friends?"

"Still unable to get a clear picture, but they're pulling away from us. I'd give it another five minutes before the interference clears up enough for them to realize we pulled a Houdini right in front of them," replied Ken.

Emoni looked up at the bulkhead, "Bridge to Engineering."

"Engineering," replied the bulkhead in a gravely male bass, "this is Whitaker. Lieutenant Lindh was wounded, she's been taken to sickbay."

"Senior Chief," she said, not wanting to waste any time, "we're about to take up a position in an asteroid field, and as soon as we secure from flight operations, I want you to start making repairs. You're cleared for EVA ops." Emoni intended to allow her engineering crews to use the ship's three workbees and other equipment necessary to make repairs to the exterior of the ship. Under the most ideal circumstances, they would be able to use the field long enough without being detected and then make a run for Federation space at maximum warp without having to worry about shutting the engines down.

Whitaker's tone was one of gratitude, "I hear that, sir. We'll do the best we can as soon as we get our gear set up."

"How long do you need to get us back into shape?"

"Better part of a day, Captain," came the reply. "Twenty hours, maybe less if I cut some corners."

Lau shook her head, "Don't cut any corners. Twenty hours is reasonable, so long as we don't draw any attention to ourselves."

"Now entering the star system, sir," said Phendara. "With your permission, I'd like to power down the warp drive and proceed on guided inertia."

"Permission granted." No sooner had the captain said it that the ever-present hum of the warp drive faded away.

Whitaker's voice spoke up, "We can get a head start on the engines this way. Thanks, Lieutenant."

"I want a report on your progress every hour, Senior Chief," Emoni ordered. "Bridge, out."

* * *

Senior Chief Petty Officer Harold Leslie Whitaker was the stereotype of every engineering chief petty officer they told stories about in the Academy's cadet barracks. He was large, barrel-chested, and spoke with a gravely voice that reverberated off of the bulkheads. When he spoke to you, you had no choice but to be intimidated by his rank and experiences. Ensigns and some junior grade lieutenants trembled whenever he walked into the room. At times, even the chief engineering officer took her cues from his suggestions.

When Tammy Lindh suffered injuries falling from the second engineering level due to the shockwave, the assistant chief engineering officer, Lieutenant (junior grade) Walter Rabbitt, did not make any attempt to assume command of the engineering section. He fell in line with the senior chief's orders, carrying them out as he believe that if they were going to get out of this situation in one piece, it would be by Whitaker's decisions based on his years of experience in the field. The others followed by the lieutenant's example, not questioning Whitaker's authority even once.

Following the order to maintain station within the asteroid field, the warp core was taken offline. The Miranda-class light cruiser was essentially defenseless without primary power online, but the fusion generators accepted the increase in load as they were designed to do. Whitaker wasted very little time in assigning the high priority tasks to his teams, sending a third of his section to make direct hull repairs as efficiently as possible.

In the tenth hour of making repairs to _Dallas_, the bad news was relayed from the bridge to Whitaker; Lieutenant Tammy Lindh's injuries were too severe to save her, and she died in the surgical unit. He had to break the news to the staff, but only after they had completed the job they set out to do. He assembled group of officers, commissioned and non-commissioned, near the large master systems display on the main engineering deck.

"All right, listen up," the senior chief said, addressing the assembled team leaders. "So far, we've patched up the hull as much as we can afford to in twenty hours. Mister Rabbitt assures me that the damage to the long-range transceiver will be repaired well in time. Odessa, where are we with the warp drive?"

Everyone trained his or her eyes on the short woman, who wore her charcoal uniform unzipped and hanging off of her shoulders. Patches of coolant exposure appeared in white streaks across the mustard yellow turtleneck, undoubtedly from the repair efforts to the plasma injectors. She looked at Whitaker for a moment before responding in a muted voice, "Behind schedule, Senior Chief. I'm afraid that we will not have the warp drive back online for another eighteen hours. We made our repairs to the plasma injectors just fine, but we also found severe fatigue in the starboard power transfer conduits. I'm recommending that we use this time to do a full replacement of the conduit in question, or else risk a breach later on down the line." McComas left the rest unspoken, for if another cruiser out there caught them, another hit would spell disaster for the _Dallas_.

Lieutenant (jg) Rabbitt looked at the others with a look of relief on his face. "That shouldn't be a problem," he said in a cheerful voice.

"I'm not finished," said McComas, fixing the lieutenant with a glare. "The magnetic constrictors are on manual control right now, and held in the locked position to prevent the flow of antimatter into the chamber. We were lucky that the ship was at warp when we took that hit, because before we shut down the warp core, Ensign Hines had to force the constrictors into place. I don't want to have to rely on manual control for warp speed."

Whitaker frowned, "I don't, either. Tell Ensign Hines that I'll be down as soon as we're done here and I'll give him a hand with the magnetic constrictors. Was that all?"

Odessa shook her head, "One more problem. I've taken the liberty of sending a team into each of the nacelles to do a visual inspection of the warp coils. That shockwave shook us up pretty badly, and I'm sure that we're all right, but I did not want to take any chances." She looked at Whitaker, "I apologize if I stepped out of line on that."

The senior chief decided not to say anything to her right then, instead optioning to address everyone at once, "You heard her, we've started the inspection and we'll finish it. Send whatever people you can spare to help speed that process up. Other than that, I think we're making some good progress here. You're dismissed." He looked to McComas, "Odessa, you're with me." He pointed toward the turbolift door, to indicate exactly where he intended to go.

"Aye, aye, Senior Chief," she said, trying to keep the worry out of her tone.

Once within the confines of the lift, Whitaker decided to take more dramatic tack with the young woman, looking at her with a slight frown on his face. "Odessa," he began, with the tone of his voice presenting difficulty in trying to see if a storm was about to come in the form of one of his famous lectures. "Odessa, I think that you have proven yourself as a very capable non-comm time and time again. Your decision to send teams into the nacelles proves that."

Odessa allowed herself to breathe again, "Okay, whew."

"Whew?" he asked, the look on his face expressing his puzzlement.

She wore wearing a relieved smile on her face as she admitted, "I thought you were going to chew my ass off."

Whitaker harrumphed, "I've been known to say a good word from time to time, you know."

"Not in my lifetime," she was unable to keep from replying.

The senior chief shot a look toward her, "What was that?"

"Why, nothing, Senior Chief. Nothing at all."

* * *

Emoni closed her eyes as Ken expertly massaged her shoulders within the confines of her quarters. She rolled her head from side to side as he relieved her of the tension of the last three days, and she was grateful for his attention to her in that moment. Their moments together had been fleeting since the mission to provide long-range tactical data of the Monac star system. "Remind me to recommend Phendara for promotion," she said, her voice almost a moan. "It's not quite Federation territory, but I'm sure glad to not be running for a while."

Ken continued to move his hands over her shoulders and back as the captain lay on her couch, face down. As she spoke to him, he looked up at the viewport that showed the asteroid field in front of the ship and admitted his fears, "I don't want to be the one to break it to you, but how exactly did this system go unnoticed by the Jem'Hadar?" The truth was told, ever since they arrived, he felt as though something weren't right. There were so many places the ship could travel to in the short amount of time that the interference blinded them, and with the methodical nature of the military forces of the Dominion, it seemed rather miraculous that they had been able to take nearly sixteen hours of uninterrupted rest.

"I'd be lying if I said that thought hadn't crossed my mind," Emoni said, her tone serious.

"How long before the next progress report from engineering?" asked Ken.

The captain gave a slight shrug in response, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"Look, Emoni, I don't think we should be relaxing our guard here."

Pushing herself to flip over on her back, she looked at him before speaking, "Not that I need to explain my orders to you, but there's not much choice in the matter."

Ken rested on his haunches as she moved, and when there was an opportunity to do so, he rested an elbow upon her thigh as she explained what they were doing. His presence in the captain's quarters was a part of their routine on those days where anything resembling off-hours presented itself.

"We need to be able to nurse the wounds that we've taken so far. We were damned lucky to make it out of that system with the lumps the Jem'Hadar handed out," Emoni began. "With the warp core less than a half hour away from shutting down, it was either we pull a disappearing act or we try to outmaneuver them on impulse power."

"Which we could have done," he pressed.

Her eyes betrayed her anger, "Damn it, Ken. I'm tired of having to go over our orders with you every time you decide you want to prove that you have a bigger penis than the other guy."

Ken blanched, "That hurt, Emoni."

"That was my intention." She sighed, "Look. This mission calls for discretion, not heroism. We've done this hundreds of times. Starfleet Intelligence orders us to go out, get information, and bring it back. We're not here to earn kills."

He sighed, this time taking a deep breath in a mimicking gesture. "I'm beginning to feel as though you don't think much of my opinion."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

Emoni opened her mouth to say something, but instead she closed it and shook her head in frustration.

"I'm sorry," he said, after a moment of shared silence. "I don't mean to come off sounding like an asshole. What I am trying to say here is that I would feel better knowing that there was one less cruiser out here looking for us."

"I can appreciate that." She sat up, moving her thighs out from under his arm. "But this is where I get to point that I'm in command. I made the decision and I'll stick by it."

Ken stood up, folding his arms and looking very much like a child, "Why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Throw your rank in my face to win an argument."

"Because sometimes you forget your place, Lieutenant," she said, emphasizing his rank.

He turned around, staring at her intently, "And what exactly is my place, Captain?"

"To carry out my orders," she replied, her voice growing tense.

"That's not what I mean."

She looked at him and asked, "What do you mean, then?"

Unsure of his emotional footing, Ken seemed to take his time before answering that question. He knew full well that their relationship was purely physical, but that was in the past, during a time when they had discussed it as though it were merely an academic issue rather than a real one. He was so certain of his ability to keep his heart reigned in that he decided to involve himself personally with her. In looking at her seated on her couch, he felt his heart jump within his chest.

Ken remembered how excited he was to have been granted his transfer request to the _Dallas_ six months ago. He had come up through the ranks aboard the _Fearless_, in the operations department, and with his knowledge and experience as the assistant department head, he felt it was his turn to step up and take the opportunity to prove his leadership ability beyond any doubt. He had been grateful to Captain Simpson's recommendation to Commander Lau, but when he stepped aboard ship for the first time he had not been so certain as so how he would fit in.

He reported in to her and he remembered feeling tongue-tied in her presence, as though he were a newly commissioned ensign making his report to his first assignment rather than a full lieutenant with over six years of service on his record. She was beautiful beyond words, he said to himself. Emoni Lau regarded him with two of the darkest brown eyes he had ever seen, and spoke with a warm, yet regal tone. He could not believe she was his commanding officer, wanting so much to be able to approach her without having to worry about the consequences. He had convinced himself that the brief exchange in her ready room would be the extent of their interaction, until he served his first bridge shift. But that was not the case.

From the start of his tenure as a bridge officer, he noticed that there was a relaxed nature about everyone. It proved to be a very stark contrast to the strict environment he had come to appreciate aboard the _Fearless_. He felt as though he had transferred to a cruise ship rather than a Starfleet vessel. Gone was the discipline, all of the adherence to the protocol that his former captain drilled into his officers and crew. By the second day, Ken began to feel as though that his decision to transfer was fueled more by his ambition.

In the end, it was Emoni who had a hand in making him feel comfortable. The executive officer, T'Nala, was a Vulcan, and she made sure he was aware of her personal boundaries from the beginning. The others had not turned such a cold shoulder to him, within days of his arrival, he had been known to crack up the bridge crew with a few carefully crafted remarks and maintained a sense of levity about him. Officers like Phendara and the late Tammy Lindh had grown to like him a great deal. Even Senior Chief Whitaker warmed up to him, which was an unprecedented move by the older non-commissioned officer. One month later, Ken found himself amidst a new group of friends and colleagues whose company he enjoyed a great deal more than he had on the _Fearless_.

When Emoni had approached him with an invitation to share meals with her on a regular basis, he had no idea what to expect. The first meal was spent discussing ship's business, and he set his expectations accordingly. It was not unusual for her to reach out to him like that, given T'Nala's demeanor, she would wish to have contact with the next officer in her command structure. After the first day, he felt he had gotten to know her a little better. A week passed, and then a month. By then, they had discussed everything they felt necessary, going through personal history and exchanging anecdotes that had relevance to their conversations.

One evening, Emoni cancelled their dinner plans due to a personal matter. Feeling slighted by that explanation, he began moping about the ship and being generally unresponsive to his friends. They had been docked at Deep Space Nine at the time, and without warning, she took emergency leave and returned to Earth. With T'Nala in command, and the ship enjoying an extended period of relaxation on the converted Cardassian mining station, he found the opportunity to seek solitude without calling any more attention to himself. T'Nala obliged his request for extra duties, and she even made her approval known with only a few choice words in the corridor, breaking her months-long off-bridge silence.

When Emoni returned to the ship one week later, her first order of personal business following the report from T'Nala was to seek Ken out and explain what had happened. The officers and crew of the starship _Exeter_ had lost their lives in an attempt to evacuate a Federation colony near the demilitarized zone near the Cardassian border. She explained that a great number of her classmates ended up serving together on that ship, and she used what clout she had with Starfleet Intelligence to make the voyage to Earth in time for the memorial services. She felt as though she had lost a family, rather than a single person, and in her moment of remorse, she told him she had regretted shutting him out so suddenly.

That night, over dinner and wine she had brought back with her, she made a resolution. To all of those friends around her that she felt close to, she would make sure that she did not lose touch with them. They ate, they drank, she cried, and he tried to do his best to console her. He offered his arms to embrace his captain, and she settled into his arms and continued to weep openly. He had never felt as close to anyone as he had with her, and it was in that moment of surging emotions that he dared to lean down and kiss her.

The next morning, she made it clear that what had happened was the result of the loss of inhibitions and the emotionally charged atmosphere. They had gotten lost in the moment, she said to him, it won't happen again. But it did happen again, the next night and the night after. It was dinner, conversation, and physical intimacy. Ken's demeanor could not help but change dramatically, and the other officers and crew began to speculate about what went on behind those closed doors. Nothing was ever said, despite their actions both Emoni and Ken were well-liked, and it took a motion from Harry Whitaker to simply turn a blind eye and prevent the lower decks from speaking ill of their captain and second officer.

Tonight, on the other side of the border yet again, he stared into those brown eyes and wondered if he should tell her how he felt about her. The questions began to dance in his mind; was this the right time? Should he wait until they got back to the Starbase? What if they never got back to the Starbase? No, he could not bear to think that, but it raised a point about seizing the moment.

Emoni looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer to her question.

Ken finally came to a decision. "Never mind," he said lamely. "Forget I said anything about it. Why don't we go see if engineering has a better idea of where we are."

* * *

It was the heat of the arc welder that was causing him to sweat profusely. His officer's jacket had already been discarded on the floor in a heap of cloth and the large wet patches from his armpits and back turned the mustard yellow turtleneck a discolored brown. As he ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, he figured that the reason why there were so many dry patches were because all of that moisture was now outside of his body. His body demanded that he replenish what he expended, but if he stopped his welding now, he knew he would be behind schedule.

Though not a regular member of the engineering team, he felt useless sitting in his quarters. With limited knowledge in repairs, he was pressed into service where he would do the most good; welding fatigued spots of the superstructure, and placing new hull patches over worn ones to reinforce them. It was not much, nor as big a contribution as some of the other well trained engineers aboard ship, but it was the least he could do.

"Whitaker to Kirk," said the ship's internal communications system.

Jonas did not stop welding. "Yes, Senior Chief?" his tone was loud, over the noise the welder made. He was glad he did not have to touch his commbadge to acknowledge the signal.

"How much longer are you going to be patching up that hole in my hull?"

"I'm almost done, Senior Chief. Give me fifteen minutes."

"You have ten. Whitaker, out."

He cursed inwardly, stealing a glance up at the rest of the tritanium hull patch. Ten minutes would be doable, if he could get a tricorder down here in time. "Kirk to Phendara," he called out.

"Phendara, here," she replied in an annoyed tone.

"Hey, where are you?"

A pause. "I'm in my quarters."

"Are you up to doing me a favor?" he asked.

There was another pause, as she considered his question.

Kirk stopped welding, sitting back on his feet as his knees screamed in agony from being abused. "Phendara, all I need is a tricorder and some water."

She did not find that to be unreasonable, "Very well. I shall arrive shortly. Is that all?"

"Yes. Thank you very much."

"Phendara, out."

It always started like that with her; he noticed that she regarded him with contempt. He did outrank her, but that was not the source of their unease. But he tried not to think about it he waited for his tricorder and his water.

* * *

Lieutenant Ushiyama's eyes scanned over the PADD containing the latest engineering report. Despite the captain's order that they would remain within the asteroid field for twenty hours, it was now over twenty-four hours since they arrived. The report in his hand showed that while the discovered problems with the warp drive were identified and corrected, they were requesting an additional two hours to complete the repair process.

"Harry…" Ken's voice trailed off with a warning tone.

Whitaker shrugged, "We took some serious hits, Ken." He was unapologetic about it, as he always was about such matters. "I supposed we could go right now, do what we can en route."

The executive officer was not buying it. "I feel one of your famous doomsday lectures coming on."

"No need. I think we're about waist-deep in it already," replied the senior chief.

Ken could not disagree with him, "I hear that. All right, we do it en route, because I do not want to be sitting out here with our pants rolled up around our ankles, waiting for the next Jem'Hadar ship to shove their gun up our asses, and pull the damned trigger."

Whitaker laughed loudly, "We'll wrap up what we've got going in ten minutes. Half that to pull the EVA crews back in."

"I'll inform the captain," nodded Ken, and the impromptu meeting in the ready room was over. The executive officer handed the PADD back to Whitaker and departed to return to the captain's quarters, where she was asleep.

* * *

There was a decided advantage to serving on a ship assigned to Starfleet Intelligence, and that was in the fact that whenever possible, the ship would find itself at the head of every upgrade list. Most of the Miranda-class light cruisers serving within the tactical fleets were pressed into service from the mothball fleet, or recommissioned into active service to replace ships lost in the first six months of the Dominion war. _Dallas_ was one of those vessels, having been put into the mothball fleet just shortly after the end of the Cardassian war, as one of fifty ships that Starfleet determined to be no longer needed to maintain a peacetime fleet. Once pressed back into active service, however, it was retasked from the tactical fleets that would engage the Dominion, and into a smaller fleet that was operated by Starfleet Intelligence.

_Dallas_ received a series of upgrades to its weapons systems, and modules, including the main bridge. The main bridge module that was installed contained a ready room for the captain; a luxury not enjoyed by her sister ships. Along with the other advanced systems came the installation of the long-term emergency medical holograph, the prototype developed by Doctor Lewis Zimmerman. Rather than assigning a chief medical officer, the holograph fulfilled that role very capably, and his ability to escape the confines of sickbay, thanks to the shipwide holographic emitters, added to his value among the members of the crew.

"Good morning, Odessa," said the Doctor, looking up from his desk within the now-empty sickbay; he addressed her by her preferred method of address he had on file. "What can I do for you?"

Odessa smiled, "Nothing, Doc. I'm here to take care of some power node repairs." She indicated this by raising her repair kit up. As the exterior repairs were cut short and the warp core about to be brought online, many of the repair teams found themselves reassigned to the next critical system. "We're going to switch to the secondary network in a minute so we can finish repairs on our way back home."

The Doctor took on a worried look, "I hope this doesn't take too long."

McComas could not help but smile at his programmed responses. Her assignment to the ship came only four months ago, and in that time she had come to learn a great deal about the systems that worked on the ship. Odessa's favorite system to maintain was the LMH's holographic generator. As the other engineers tended to not wish to interact with the program, she reveled in the opportunity to talk and discuss various topic with the program. It was as if she melded her work and her hobby into one, with being an engineer and working with holography. The programmed emotional responses fascinated her the most, and when she encountered those subroutines, it always amused her. "We'll try and get this done as soon as possible, Doctor," she assured him.

"I should hope so," he replied. The Doctor turned away from her to return to his work.

She opened her toolkit, removing her instruments and tools to begin using them. When both of her hands were free, she opened one of the large access panels against the starboard bulkhead and connected a monitoring device to it. "That's odd," said Odessa, once the small display on the device lit up and began to provide her with information.

"What's odd?" the Doctor asked, his attention divided between continuing their conversation and his medical scans.

Odessa frowned at the device once more, resetting the sensors to make sure what she was seeing was accurate. "I think I'm reading a low-level energy drain."

"A damaged node, perhaps?"

"If it were a damaged node, it wouldn't be returning a signature like this," she shook her head at the results. "I wonder…" her voice trailed off. Odessa brought her right hand up to tap at her communicator, "McComas to Senior Chief Whitaker."

The familiar gravely voice carried into sickbay, "Go ahead."

"Check the primary power grid on deck five, section five-baker-eleven. I'm reading an energy fluctuation in this area."

"Stand by." The sound of computer commands being entered in the background could be heard before Whitaker replied, "That's very interesting. Stay where you are, I'm coming up to…" The transmission was terminated without warning, followed by the lights switching off.

"Chief?" she called out, looking around at the dimly lit room. Her eyes searched for the Doctor, and she watched him approach her.

"What's going on?" was his question.

"I'm not sure." She checked her device once more, scrutinizing it. "This is really strange. I'll wait until the Senior Chief gets up here, because I can't make heads or tails of these readings."

Before the Doctor could reply, the doors to sickbay slid aside. Odessa looked over; expecting Harry Whitaker to be there, ready to provide his assistance in solving this mystery. In the second immediately following her movement to look at the doors, she reacted on instinct as the weapons fire shot through the Doctor's image and over her head as she hit the deck and rolled behind the biobed. Grabbing her phaser from its holster on her hip and bringing it to bear on the intruders, she fired short bursts in a quick pattern through the open areas of the biobed's legs.

She kept her phaser at the ready, approaching the edge of the biobed slowly in an attempt to maintain her cover. Odessa peeked around that corner to look at the three intruders closely, through the dim lighting of sickbay. To her right, the Doctor had already opened his medical tricorder and began to run scans of the deceased. Within moments, he verbally confirmed her suspicions.

It was the Jem'Hadar.

"Holy Kolker," she whispered as the extremity of the situation replayed in her mind. She had to push aside her shock and disbelief in order to press on and perform her duty. Slapping her communicator, she called out, "McComas to Bridge. Intruder alert." There was no response to her call. In the silence of sickbay, she looked at the Doctor and said, "Can you transfer your program to the bridge and warn them?"

"I have already tried, it's part of my program. The sickbay systems appeared to have been isolated," he said immediately.

Odessa moved for the doors, "I'm going to have to hoof it, then."

"Wait! What if there are more of them?"

She never had an opportunity to reply. As soon as she was within three feet of the doors, they slid aside once more. Automatically, she brought her phaser up in defense, rolling to the side again. She hit the ground, but kept her eyes and her weapon trained on the person coming through the door.

That person brought both of his hands up and called out, "Stand down!" It was Whitaker, his own phaser at the ready after seeing her threaten him, though inadvertent as the action was. "Jesus, have you lost your mind?"

The Doctor indicated toward the bodies, "Under the circumstances, I hope you can forgive her jumpiness, Senior Chief."

McComas drew herself up from the ground, apologizing for her actions, "Sorry about that."

"It's all right," he said, after getting a good look at the Jem'Hadar. "Have you tried contacting the bridge?"

Odessa spoke up first, "The communications system isn't responding to my commands." She walked over to the other two, keeping her phaser in her hand. Her heart was already beating rapidly; she had no intention of dropping her guard any more.

Whitaker reached down for the rifles that the Jem'Hadar carried into sickbay, and handed one to Odessa. He offered the other to the Doctor, who refused it.

"I'm a doctor. I swore an oath to do no harm."

"Fine," he said. "Can I count on you to prevent any more of these uglies from accessing sickbay? We might be sending you some wounded."

The Doctor seemed to think about that, "I can seal the room, but for that I require primary power online."

The senior chief guided the petty officer toward the crawlway access panel very near the open panel that Odessa was preparing to work on. He swung open the door and allowed her to go first. "Fair enough. We'll try to accommodate you, Doc. Try not to let these sons of bitches push you around." Once she was through, he dove into the crawlway after her.

The LMH activated his tangibility subroutine and used his suddenly solid hand to close the door behind them.

* * *

The door chimed for the third time, but it was the first time she had heard it. The audible chirping noise penetrated a dream that she already forgot by the time she was on her feet. Ken had told her he would wake her once the engineering report had been made, and as always, he was quite punctual. Actually, she thought to herself as she noticed the time, he was early. That could only mean one of two things, good news or bad news. She reached over to her uniform jacket to put it on before the door chimed a fourth time, allowing it to hang freely rather than zipping it up in front. Her phaser dangled from its holster, which was attached to the lower part of her tunic. Emoni opened the door.

Ken noticed that she looked as though she had woken up. His concern was the fact that it took her four chimes before she answered the door. Usually she was a light sleeper, but it seemed lately that she had not been getting enough sleep. He felt a little guilty about waking her for something that he could easily handle himself, but her orders were very clear on the subject. As he walked into her the living area of her stateroom, he said with an indifferent tone, "Sorry. Harry says we can move, now, but he doesn't recommend it. He wants two more hours to complete some more repairs."

As the doors slid closed behind Ken, Emoni smiled as she envisioned the conversation between the acting chief engineer and the acting executive officer, "I'll wager you told him that you're going to recommend that we leave immediately."

"With all due respect, sir," he said. "Hell, yes. We've been here long enough."

The lights dimmed suddenly. Emoni had her mouth open as she was about to reply, but instead she looked up at the lights as though the reason were inscribed upon them. "Computer, restore illumination."

"Unable to comply," replied the computer. "Primary power is offline."

Lieutenant Ushiyama shot Commander Lau a look of warning, "They are doing some quick repairs to the primary grid, but the secondaries should've come online pretty quickly."

It was agreed then, something was wrong. The captain fastened the bottom of her jacket and zipped it up to the top. Tapping her communicator, she got a hold of the bridge. Or at least, she tried to.

Ken did the same, seeing Emoni's failure to contact anyone. "Ushiyama to Bridge."

She darted a glance at him in annoyance, as he repeated her action in futility. "It's probably just a down power node."

He was not as dismissive, "What if it's not?"

"Good point," she said, looking down at her type two phaser. "Heavy stun, and be prepared for anything."

The lieutenant put his hand upon her shoulder, to prevent her from being the first to leave her quarters. He touched the door control on the bulkhead to the right, and when it slid open, he poked his head out to make sure there were no ambushers lying in wait. The corridor was too dark for him to truly see anything, but he seemed to be satisfied that it was clear. With a gesture to her, he led the way down the corridor, noticing that it was unusually devoid of anyone, including the _Dallas_' crew compliment.

Once they left the section that her quarters were in, the lighting appeared in the next section, confirming Emoni's supposition that the power node in her section of the deck had indeed been faulty. Holstering her phaser, she smirked at him for being so cautious, and entered the turbolift ahead of him and called out their destination of the main bridge.

When they arrived at the main bridge, Emoni's position within the turbolift did not give her enough time to see the main bridge when the doors parted. Ken slammed into her from her left side and pushed her against the turbolift wall. She got a yelp of surprise out, and angry before she realized that blue-white bolts of energy had discolored the turbolift wall in front of her, and her quick-acting executive officer had already ordered the turbolift to auxiliary control.

Ken's view of the devastation on the main bridge was unforgettable. The third shift personnel were all dead, from what he could see. They ripped apart the officer of the deck, Ensign Nystrom, along with the other four members of the bridge crew. From what he could determine, at the time that the lift doors opened, two of them were making attempts to gain access to the ship's computers. Nystrom, he guessed, must have locked down control of the ship as soon as he saw the bridge was taken.

"The Jem'Hadar have taken the bridge," he informed Emoni of the obvious, checking his phaser charge and despite her order earlier to set it to heavy stun, his rage forced his weapon to full. "I recommend you localize command function, sir." There was no longer any more time for anything other than duty.

It was his best recommendation, and she took it with a nod. Tapping her communicator to open up a communications link, she addressed the main computer directly. "Computer, sound intruder alert. All orders regarding command function are only to be accepted from auxiliary control. Authorization: Lau-alpha-one-one-three-zero." She had effectively disabled the main bridge, or any other location aboard the ship, from accessing any command that would alter the ship's state. Powering up the warp core, changing course, activating the weapons systems, any order would be refused unless the order originated from auxiliary control.

Shortly after the public address system called the attention of the ship's security teams, the computer replied, "Orders acknowledged."

The turbolift doors opened out onto deck five within seconds. Across the corridor was the auxiliary control room, from where all of the bridge functions were duplicated in situations exactly as a hostile boarding. To prevent unauthorized access, entry into the control room was restricted to members of the senior staff. From inside, the captain and first officer would be able to conduct ship's business.

"First things first, we need to get the hell out of here," Emoni said, taking the helm. She motioned for Ken to take the operations position. "Status of the warp core?"

He had barely logged himself into the console when she asked. Taking a moment to redirect his reading on the engineering systems, he reported, "According to this, we can initiate the startup sequence at any time."

"Do it. Raise shields. Bring the lateral sensor array online and let's see if we have any long-range company." Her cursory check of the short-range scans showed that they appeared to be alone. But where had these Jem'Hadar come from?

"Shields online. Seventy-three percent fore, fifty-six percent aft," reported Ken.

Emoni looked at him, "More than enough to stop any transporters from setting more Jem'Hadar on the deck."

Whitaker and McComas made their entry into the room not long after, both carrying the rifles they had taken from the fallen Jem'Hadar in sickbay. The senior chief was the first to report, "We just got out of a firefight on deck eight. They're trying to take the impulse deck. I've got Rabbitt and a few others defending main engineering." He tossed the third rifle he had been carrying to Ken, who took it and holstered his phaser to let the rifle strap hang over his shoulder.

Ken nodded to him, "Harry, I've already started up the warp core. We've got to get out of here."

"No shit, Lieutenant," he said as he placed himself before the engineering station and engaged the link to the warp core. "Three minutes until we have warp speed available."

Captain Lau pointed Odessa toward the helm as she took the command station in the center of the room. "What have we got on long-range sensors?"

"Scanning," replied Ushiyama. "I'm not picking up anything, sir."

Emoni looked toward Harry, "I want to release anesthezine on every deck."

"Sir, we're not sure if the Jem'Hadar are affected by anesthezine. We'd be putting our own people at risk," cautioned Ken.

Emoni hesitated after hearing his warning. That much was for certain, though the information gathered on the Jem'Hadar was limited, it was never fully understood what weaknesses they had. If she did use anesthezine, it would certainly put her own crew to sleep, and if it failed to bring down the Jem'Hadar, then she would be sending her crew to their deaths. With their enemies down, they would brutally murder them without hesitation or sense of fair play. They would have to fight them hand-to-hand. "Belay my last. Get a hold of Lieutenant Kirk, and tell him to coordinate his teams to defend key positions. Sound general quarters, and tell all personnel who have not already reported to their duty station to remain in their quarters and to arm themselves."

Whitaker called from his station, "Warp core online now, sir."

"Odessa, take us away from the field at full impulse power," ordered Lau. "Once we're clear, resume course and take us away from the system at warp nine."

The helm answered her commands, and with the computer's help, she brought Phendara's previous course onto her screen. "Uh, system departure in two minutes, we can engage the warp engines once we clear the gravity well."

"Very good," Emoni looked at the command display before her. It was one of the nicer things about commanding the ship from the control center. A full computer station that allowed her to watch the ship's status change in real time replaced the captain's chair. Twin inputs on the arms of the chair on the bridge could not compare to the ability to configure a large display with the vital information she needed to make decisions. "Ken, I need you to put a call to Jonas. We need to nail a lid on these intruders."

* * *

The call to all security teams to repel boarders came only seconds after he had finished welding that hull patch. Sharing a strange look of surprise with Phendara, Jonas believed it to be a drill when he heard several of those intruders storming down the corridor, approaching their position. In either case, as the tactical officer, he had a duty to perform. With his phaser drawn, he was ready to face whomever it was that felt the need to come sprinting.

"Identify yourselves!" called Kirk, trying to search and watching the shadows as they advanced around the bend.

A female voice replied back, "It's Corporal Quinn and Private Watters." They came into view, both of them wearing phasers on their belts and carrying Jem'Hadar rifles.

Phendara eyed them both while also eyeing their rifles and putting the situation together. "We have to get to the bridge, immediately."

"No can do," said Quinn, a little winded. She was a tall woman, with dark red hair and a muscular build. Private Watters was as equally muscular, but with blonde hair and average height. Both of them were members of the Marine contingent that the _Dallas_ carried, led by Gunnery Sergeant MacDougal. "They've taken the bridge. The CP has been set up in cargo bay four, and the captain's transferred command to auxiliary control." The marine command post or CP, Jonas knew, was only enabled when hostile forces had compromised at least fifty percent of the ship.

Kirk acted quickly, "Corporal, continue on your assignment. Phendara and I will try and reach auxiliary control. Good luck." The full realization of the situation invigorated him, he felt the stress of the invasion and he felt as if he had just been awoken from a slumber. It was a chance to fight back, to make a difference, to do something other than run. "Armory, deck seven," he ordered, once they entered the turbolift.

The call from Ushiyama came through, telling Kirk what he already knew, and what his duty was. He informed the executive officer that he and Phendara were together, and that they were going to do what they could to comply with the captain's orders.

Phendara took up a position against the right side of the lift door, while Jonas moved to the left. With their phasers pointed up toward the deck, they were ready for anything to come through that door once they arrived.

The doors parted, and a barrage of phaser and rifle fire crisscrossed the corridor in front of them. Starfleet personnel had set up a barricade using empty cargo containers brought in from the lower decks. Marines and regular fleet security were holding the line against the Jem'Hadar. Kirk shouted over the noise, "Go ahead! I'll cover you!"

She moved out of the doorway, firing her phaser wildly in an attempt to force them to take cover. Kirk whipped around with his arm and began to fire as well, striking one of the soldiers in the chest. "Move! Move!" he shouted, not wanting her to take the time to aim let alone fire her phaser.

Phendara tucked in her arms and rolled after leaping behind the barricade. The doors to the turbolift had opened in the middle of the fight, with the Starfleet side only a few feet to the left. The Jem'Hadar took position over twenty feet to the right.

Satisfied that she made it through safely, he ran from the doors, firing in the same fashion as she had. Once he reached the barricade, he leapt over containers. The storm of rifle fire seemed to increase as he did so, and after rolling over, he lost control over his movement and spun into the bulkhead, clutching at his arm. One of the rifle hits had found its mark on the upper part of his right arm, smoldering from the point at where his uniform and flesh melted away.

Kirk cried out in tremendous pain, dropping the phaser to the floor. He was far enough away from the fight to not worry about stray fire hitting him.

Crawling over to him, Phendara took a look at the hit he took, and began to drag him by his good arm down the corridor and out of the range of fire completely. She was strong, he noticed, much stronger than her physique let on. Once clear, she continued to drag him the other four feet into the ship's armory. The two security crewman defending that station helped her get him onto one of the empty desks, as she grabbed the field medical kit from its housing and opened it to begin treating Jonas' wound.

"Hold still," she asked him. Outside, the fight continued, as the sound of weapons fire penetrated the bulkheads. The medical tricorder told her it was a third degree plasma burn, and that the fibers of the uniform had fused itself it his skin. The most she could do for him was to sedate him, but she knew he would not want to be asleep when the fight was so close. Phendara looked to the other two crewmembers, "He needs to be moved to sickbay. Can we do a site-to-site transport?"

The shorter of the two wore the rank of a senior crewman, the equivalent of a marine sergeant. "Transporters are offline right now. Last I heard, they just did the warp core startup sequence. We're leaving the system."

Phendara asked the question everyone else appeared to be asking, "Where did the Jem'Hadar come from?"

"We don't know," came the reply.

Jonas grimaced, "I'm all right. You need to get to aux control, Phendara. They're going to need you at the helm."

"As you wish." She pushed away from him and turned to the other two, "Please look after him."

* * *

"Now exiting the system," reported Odessa from the helm position. She looked down at her display and ran a navigational scan of the sector. "I'm not reading any further stellar bodies between here and our destination, sir. Estimated time of arrival to Federation territory is just under two hours."

Emoni had already done that from her station, pulling the latest sensor reports from every type of scan. "Thank you, Odessa. Harry, how're we doing on the warp drive?"

"Holding up just fine, Skipper."

"Good to hear. What's the word from the fight in the halls, Ken?"

Ken's security report flashed on the operations display again, updating. "Looks like we have them on the run. Contained on decks five through seven, but they still have control over decks one, three, and eight."

"How many of our personnel are on the decks that the Jem'Hadar have control over?"

"Showing fifteen on deck three, and thirty-one on deck eight," replied Ken.

Emoni looked over at Ken, "The Bridge is under their control, still?"

"Technically, yes."

She duplicated that information on her screen, showing the decks that were in contest with more detail. "Ken, can you run a forcefield pattern to keep them contained to certain sections?"

Ushiyama looked at his screen again, trying to anticipate her order by paying attention to the locations of the intruders. The difficult part was that the internal sensors tended to not get a good lock on the Jem'Hadar. "I can try, but I can't guarantee I'll get them all."

"Your best shot will be good enough," Emoni did not move her eyes from the display in front of her. "Let's also erect forcefields around the critical areas: Main Bridge, Main Engineering, Impulse Deck, Armory, Computer Core, and Sickbay. That'll prevent them from getting in, and keep the ones on the bridge contained. Once you get that done, flood the Bridge with anesthezine. I want to run a little experiment."

Whitaker chuckled, off to her right. "If you want to call it that."

Ken stifled a laugh, "Running a forcefield pattern, now. I think I have roughly eighty-seven percent of the intruders contained behind the containment fields. We're showing that they're trying to shoot their way through, but the fields are holding." He reconfigured his display to bring the Bridge's life support systems controls. "Standing by to release anesthezine, sir."

Emoni shared in the humor of the statement, inadvertent as it was. "Five parts per million, Ken. Monitor their lifesigns, and let's see if we can take back my bridge."

"Aye, sir. Releasing anesthezine," replied the executive officer.

Emoni realized the danger in having a screen like this in front of her. There was so much information she wished to see; it was impossible to devote enough time to it all. Grateful for her officers, she leaned back in the chair and kept her eye on the readout. There was no change. "Increase to six parts per million."

The order was obeyed, and still the Jem'Hadar did not take much notice to the increase in airborne anesthetic gas. She shared a look with Ken, silently acknowledging that his earlier warning had been dead on the money. Emoni took a deep breath, asking quietly, "Are we still working on the transporters?"

Harry Whitaker explained, "Transporters are still offline right now. They were not high on the priority list, sir."

"Understood. We're just going to have to do this the hard way." Emoni entered in commands on her screen and called up the engineering status. "If we can't put them to sleep, then we're going to have to use a little more force. They can breathe anything, but I'll bet they can't breathe vacuum. Disable deck one life support."

The senior chief had been expecting that command, because it was something he would do, had he been in command. "Aye, sir. Overriding each independent safety system will take about five minutes." There were seven in total, to prevent a single life support system from failing, the other six would be on stand by to compensate for the failure. Since the systems were automatic by design, the acting chief engineer needed to switch each safety to manual; thereby preventing it from engaging once the primary was taken offline. Eventually, the atmosphere would bleed out into space and with any luck, the Jem'Hadar would lose consciousness and die.

Off of that order and acknowledgement, the door chime sounded. Each person within the control center reached for their weapon and pointed it at the door. Lau rose from her seat and called through the door, "Identify yourself."

"It's Lieutenant Phendara, sir," replied the person on the other side.

No one moved; though everyone allowed his or her eyes to move toward the captain, ready to carry out her order. She appreciated their caution and shared in it. The Jem'Hadar would not be above using a hostage to gain entry, or forcing an officer to do something against their sense of duty. "Come in."

Phendara moved into the room, slowly, looking at each of the pointed weapons in her direction. Raising both of her hands, she moved into the command center slowly. "I'm alone," was all she said.

Not a single officer dropped their aim from the door, until it slid closed behind her. Emoni was the first to put her weapon back into her holster. "Good to see you, Lieutenant. Take the helm, please."

"Aye, sir," said the Andorian. She smiled at Odessa as the position was vacated, and reported that the Jem'Hadar were being contained on deck seven by a contingent of marines and security personnel, as well as the status of Lieutenant Kirk. The captain responded by bringing the helmsman up to speed on the situation. Phendara nodded her understanding, and kept her eyes on the helm sensors. It was then that everyone on the bridge had something to worry about.

Ken was the first to report it, "Three Jem'Hadar attack cruises, advancing on our position at high warp. They will intercept us in fifteen minutes."

"Sound battlestations." The klaxon began to wail once more, alerting all decks to prepare for battle. "Advise internal security to keep their teams in place, until the intruders have been neutralized. Where did those cruisers come from?" Emoni asked.

"Based on their trajectory, I would say that they came from the same place we did," reported Ken, his tone suggesting that he did not quite believe what he was seeing. "How did we miss three cruisers on short range sensors?" he asked, nonplussed.

"How did we miss a few platoons of Jem'Hadar soldiers boarding my ship?" asked Emoni, though her tone suggested that she was indifferent to the idea of cruisers hiding in an asteroid the same way they did. "Phendara, time to pull out all the stops and introduce some fancy flying to the Dominion. Ken, keep trying to raise the _Agamemnon_. I know she's out here somewhere."

As Phendara acknowledge the order to evade, Ken replied, "Even if we do raise them, unless they're already en route, they won't be able to get here for another hour."

Whitaker completed his task. "Skipper, I've got the systems overridden. Life support is offline on the Bridge. I even killed the audio alerts," he said with a smug tone.

The captain maintained her gaze upon the command display, but she praised Whitaker, "Good work." Ken's point was mulled over, "If I know Hank Grayum the way I do, Ken, he would not let a couple of hours stop him from charging across that border to my rescue." She smiled wistfully at that thought.

Ken did not like the way she talked about him, as though they had a history. He felt a knot in his stomach form, and his demeanor changed as the jealousy washed over him like a tide crashing upon the shores of a beach. "If you say so, sir," he barely hid his annoyance.

If Emoni noticed, she did not let on. Instead, she began to examine the Bridge's atmosphere and noticed, accompanied by Whitaker's report, that the Bridge was a vacuum. "I need a lifesign scan on the Bridge."

"I think that did it, Captain." Ken did another scan, to make sure that he was not mistaken. "Not reading any lifesigns on the Bridge at this time."

"Long-range sensors detecting another ship, approaching our position," reported Phendara. "I can't make it if it's a friendly or not."

Captain Lau nodded, "It might be the _Agamemnon_."

"It might be another Jem'Hadar ship," replied Ken.

Whitaker joined in with a shrug, "Or a Cardassian battlecruiser."

Emoni shook her head, thinking out loud, "No, Odessa said there were no stellar bodies between here and the border. Unless it's a stray patrol, which is pretty unlikely, I doubt it would be a Dominion vessel. How far away are our friends behind us?"

Phendara quickly scanned her information, "Every time they increase speed, they gain about thirty to forty seconds on us. They will be within weapons range in roughly seven minutes, give or take a minute." She tried to pull up another scan of the sector, but she could not make out anything more than the fact that a warp field was approaching their position. "I have an ETA on the inbound ship ahead of us. They will intercept at twenty-two minutes. They're at warp nine-point-five."

Lau asked, "Speed of our friends?"

"Warp nine-point-one-five-five."

"Harry, how long can we maintain warp nine-point-two?"

"Twelve hours before we have to shut her down again, Skipper. More than enough time."

"Good, because I want to go to nine-point-six."

Whitaker turned his head in alarm, "You're pushing the engines beyond their design limits, sir."

"Do I have a choice?" Emoni replied. "We have to outrun them and get to Federation territory."

Shaking his head away from her and at his station, Whitaker began to enter information into the computer and ran simulations to better understand what might happen if they were to increase speed dramatically. Every time, the ship fell out of warp less than an hour away from the border. There had to be a compromise between what the captain wanted and what the ship could do, in order to get where they needed to go. "Instead of jumping to nine-point-six, what we can do is try to jog our way toward the border."

This brought a question to her eyes as she stared at the senior chief. "Jog? What exactly do you mean?"

"We increase speed to nine-point-three-five for two minutes, and then decrease speed to nine-point-two," he began to explain. "The coil heat can be managed a little easier if we give them a chance to catch their breath. Heat doesn't begin to accumulate until we cross warp nine-point-two."

Emoni seemed to understand, "That's… interesting. Let's put theory into practice. Phendara, increase speed to warp nine-point-two, and then take your cues from the senior chief as far as your speed is concerned."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

Following Phendara's departure from the armory reception area, and in spite of his pain threshold, Jonas had managed to prop himself up with the assistance of the two guards. He ordered them to stand him up and then allowed him to assist the team protecting the ship's armory. Within a few minutes, the marine medic gave him enough painkillers to not impair his ability to fight, but to dull the pain of his shoulder enough. He could not bear to lie on the desk while his fellow officers and crew were fighting to defend their ship in the corridor. The medic further stated that he was a lucky man, as the plasma wound cauterized itself, and prevented any further blood loss.

The scene in the corridor was not much different than it was earlier. Members of the armory squad had moved behind the frontline team firing from behind the cargo containers setting up concussion grenades to throw at the Jem'Hadar. The hesitation to use those grenades was clear. Using grenades in such an environment as a starship corridor was akin to setting off a firecracker within a metal tube or a glass jar. The force of the explosion would be contained.

Alongside the hand phasers were the large compression rifles that the marines carried, far more meaner looking that the type-two phasers that most of the fleet personnel had holstered on their belt. The requirement to have all personnel armed with the phaser was a part of the wartime policies enacted by Starfleet Command, specifically for situations where the ship's crew would have to defend against boarders. The foresight and wisdom of such a policy was one that Jonas felt drew the line between life and death in a fight like this one.

Soon after he joined the fight, a series of forcefields seemed to appear around the Jem'Hadar, trapping them behind it. They kept firing, trying to bring the forcefield down, but to no avail. They were effectively contained on deck seven, though he had to wonder about the other decks. The marines, satisfied that the fight had been ended, relaxed slightly by lowering their arms but keeping them at the ready in the case of the Jem'Hadar breaching the forcefields.

Jonas took the opportunity to lean against the bulkhead and issue orders to start switching out the teams holding the line with a fresh group of security personnel, getting in touch with the gunnery sergeant issuing orders from the command post in the ship's fourth cargo bay. "Kirk to MacDougal. What's your status?"

"Looks like the captain managed to get them all contained. We seem to be all right for the time being, none of the critical areas were compromised," said the sergeant, in her gruff tones.

Kirk nodded, "Good to hear. I need you to send me another team to relieve the team I've got."

"Right away, Lieutenant." She paused, hearing the pain in his voice, "I heard you took a hit. Are you all right?"

"Been better. Son of a bitch got me in the arm. Your medic did a good job, but he's being a bit of a nag in telling me that I need to get to sickbay," Kirk said through clenched teeth, as the painkiller began to wear off. His stance staggered and the pain forced him to land on the deck, very nearly sprawling out. "It's a little painful, nothing to worry about."

"Sir, if he says you need to get to sickbay, I would heed his advice. I'll send up two of my people to escort you."

"Gunny," Kirk said, "That's not necessary. Keep your men where they're needed the most. These forcefields won't hold forever."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. I'm sending you some help. If two of them happen to drag you kicking and screaming to sickbay, then so be it. MacDougal, out."

Under normal circumstances, Jonas would have given her a piece of his mind. However, all he could do was smirk to himself and contain his laughter in spite of it all. She was just being a good NCO, supporting her lieutenant in the best way she knew how. Pushing himself back onto his knees, he leaned back and rested his good shoulder against the bulkhead, heaving deep breaths as the pain returned in full force. Any movement involving his shoulders amplified that pain, until he could no longer fight back the tears.

* * *

_Dallas_ slid from side to side, as the weapons fire made unsuccessful attempts to hit their target. Lieutenant Phendara's pre-programmed evasive maneuvers were up to the task. The Jem'Hadar cruisers had come into firing range despite the jogging technique imposed by Senior Chief Whitaker, though putting distance between the two ships was not the only option available to Captain Lau.

"That's some pretty good flying, Phendara. They haven't landed a hit, yet," reported Ken. Though the operations officer of the ship, he had to hand off his primary responsibilities to Petty Officer McComas, as he operated the tactical systems in Kirk's absence. "The shield generator repairs appear to have been completed. We have full shielding back."

Emoni nodded at the good news. With the shields at full, the cruisers striking the ship would not be as detrimental as it would have been. "Good work, Lieutenant, Senior Chief. Have we gotten any closer to identifying the ship approaching ahead of us?

Odessa pulled the information about that ship accumulated so far on her screen. "I'm trying to see if I can match the warp field signature to a Federation or other known signature. Stand by." She had an idea. The signature itself was too faint to get a clear indication, but as with any kind of signature, the local space around the subspace field would have a radiation signature as well. "It's very faint, but some of the background radiation is similar to three known types. Federation, Cardassian, and Klingon."

Lau smirked at Odessa, "Two of those I'd be very happy to see. The other might not like us hanging around in their space. Keep on it, please."

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away from here, Captain," the petty officer replied.

Whitaker turned his attention away from the engineering console long enough to give Odessa a very encouraging smile. She blushed, noticing him, and quickly continued her scans.

"Good to hear it," Emoni said. "Can you try and raise the _Agamemnon_ for me, Ken?"

Ken accepted and acknowledged the order, but not before the ship lurched from beneath him as the weapons fire from one of the Jem'Hadar cruisers impacted against the aft shields. "Shields holding at ninety-eight percent, Captain."

Phendara shook her head at her console, "They're anticipating my flight patterns, sir. Must be a smart Vorta on board."

"Same choices as before, Captain," Ken warned. "Stand and fight, or duck and hide."

She shot him a dirty look for a moment before she realized that he was simply trying to provide her with options. "Be a little more specific about either. If we stand and fight, what do you suggest we do?"

Another hit landed upon the shields, breaking his train of thought, though he reported, "Aft shields now at ninety-six percent. My suggestion is to deploy quantum torpedoes as we did with the other ship yesterday, and then instead of taking the shockwave on the aft shields, we punch it up to warp nine-point-six to clear the radius."

"Same song, different verse?" quipped Emoni. She needed to be sure, "Phendara, get ready to open her all the way up. Ken, target the lead vessel and coordinate your fire with the helm."

Ken replied in the affirmative, readying the torpedoes the same way Jonas had more than twenty-one hours earlier. Since his torpedoes needed to fire as part of a timed sequence to allow the ship to speed up and avoid being hit by the blast range. "Torpedoes loaded and the dispersal pattern has been programmed into the targeting computer. Coordinating my fire with the helm. Synchronization of the firing program will commence in ten seconds," he nodded to Phendara's direction to indicate to Emoni that the information would appear on her screen right then.

The numbered sequence appeared on Phendara's display, and she entered in the speed program within two seconds of the order. She was ready to engage the warp engines beyond the emergency limitations imposed by the spaceframe of the Miranda-class starship. But if Senior Chief Whitaker had no problem with the order, she had no problem with pushing _Dallas_ above and beyond her design limits. It was one of the reasons she joined Starfleet in the first place. She kept her eye on the display, "Sequence acknowledged and I am synchronizing now." Five seconds were left on the counter, Phendara felt her adrenaline rising as the moment approached.

Lieutenant Ushiyama did nothing as the final second ticked away. The computer took the firing command in delay and engaged the targeting sensors to lock onto the lead Jem'Hadar cruiser. "Torpedoes away," he reported.

"Aft view," ordered Emoni.

On the screen, just as before, a full salvo of torpedoes appeared. Emoni's fingers tensed upon the computer station in front of her as the helm already increased speed. As expected, the ship began to vibrate slightly as the spaceframe was pushed into extreme acceleration.

Warp nine-point-two was one thousand six hundred forty-two times the speed of light. The increase to warp nine-point-six accelerated the ship to two thousand forty-one times the speed of light, thereby putting more distance between the small flotilla of Jem'Hadar cruisers and _Dallas_. The torpedoes, for all intents and purposes, drifted aft of the ship at virtually no speed, having been deployed and not launched at a warp speed. The ship needed enough time to speed ahead of the torpedoes, enough time to get away.

The ship did not lurch at all when the torpedoes detonated; the radius was cleared well before then. The three Jem'Hadar ships, having been in close pursuit formation, flew into the radius believe that the hit would impact upon the shields and the generators would absorbed the energy output. Instead, as before, the interference pattern caused the ships to alter their trajectory to avoid collision. Two of the ships, the lead and its ally to the left, collided. The top of the lead ship impacted against the bottom of the left, at high warp. Visible damage could be seen from the viewscreen, causing Whitaker to whoop from his station.

"Yes!" he shouted. "Good shooting, Lieutenant."

Emoni was all grins, "I couldn't have said it better myself."

The two ships that collided fell out of warp as the damage sustained also destabilized their respective warp fields. Scoring and plasma discharge appeared in a long steam from the vents, as though space were a body of water, and the vented plasma appeared like a wake.

The celebrations were cut short, as the third ship appeared to have only caught the outskirts of the interference reacquired _Dallas_ and began to open fire. "They're accelerating to warp nine-point-nine, Captain. They will overtake us in less than forty-five seconds," reported Phendara.

Ken keyed in another scan of the remaining ship, noticing that its forward sensor array had been taken offline shortly before the torpedoes detonated. It did not take any longer for him to make the correct conclusion, "Captain, that ship is the same one we gave the slip to yesterday. He wasn't fooled by our little fireworks display."

"That's okay, Ken. That's not the only trick I know," Emoni assured him.

The aft shields underwent a barrage of sustained energy fire and projectile fire; the deck reflected that increase in firepower. Odessa immediately reported, "Shield generators are beginning to take too much of the energy feedback from the attack. Aft generator efficiency is suffering." She was beginning to feel like a part of the bulkheads, having nothing to contribute until then.

"Confirmed, aft shields down to seventy-one percent," reported Ken, once his hands were free from bracing himself against the attack. "Looks like they've decided to stop fooling around, sir."

Multiple hits from the Jem'Hadar impacted on the aft shields, lighting up the energy barrier in a splash of blue and white colors. Emoni decided that were it not for the violent nature of the display, she would consider it a pretty sight. "Phendara, keep them off our tails long enough for us to whip around. We're going to bare our teeth and take a chance right here." It was either let them continue to wear down their defenses in accordance with her orders, or stand and fight in direct violation of them. Either way, the ship and the information it carried were in jeopardy. At least she would be able to do something about it by pursuing the latter option. "Ken, target the attack cruiser's propulsion and weapon systems. Prepare to fire when we bring her about."

Ushiyama acknowledged the command with a quick couple of words, and proceeded to establish his target locks. "I have a weapons lock, Captain."

"Phendara, when I give the word, I want you to reposition the ship down and under the Jem'Hadar. Give Ken a nice optimal firing position to open up with the forward arrays and tubes," Emoni said.

Moving her fingers over the helm controls, she prepared to initiate that maneuver, "Aye, sir. We'll slow to warp nine-point-four. That should give Mister Ushiyama more than enough time to do what he needs to do."

"This has to happen quickly or else they'll evade if they see us dropping out of warp," warned the captain, her tone betraying a little bit of the excited anticipation she was feeling.

Phendara knew that, but she was not going to express her irritation at her captain's statement of the obvious, instead replying as she was expected to, "Aye, sir. Standing by."

Emoni looked over to Ken, just before turning her head back to the viewscreen and ordering, "Now."

On the main viewscreen, the scene appeared to pan like a camera, showing the keel of the Jem'Hadar vessel as Ken carried out his orders. A series of phaser and quantum torpedo hits scored against the shields of the attack craft, without a single miss. It appeared to be a furious storm of energy discharges, in rapid succession, just as the enemy cruiser attacked _Dallas_. Within seconds of the initial hit, it was clear that the concentrated firepower penetrated the shields, damaging the hull. As the final set of attacking phaser beams lanced out at the Jem'Hadar, the ship began to pull away and slow down as a trail of green floated behind it.

Odessa ran a damage analysis of the enemy vessel, being the first to report her results, "Captain, I'm reading massive damage to their power distribution network, as well as damage to their subspace propulsion systems. They're dropping out of warp and venting drive plasma to prevent a breach." She said it with a cheeriness expected of a successful tactical maneuver. "They're transmitting a distress call, sir."

The captain smiled widely, "Outstanding work, Lieutenants. Now, let's go home."

Phendara carried out her orders, and within thirty seconds, _Dallas_' bow was pointed toward Federation territory once again. "We are back on course, at warp nine-point-four."

"Captain, the ship ahead of us is signaling. The transponder identifies it as the _Agamemnon_," reported Odessa with a smile.

Whitaker harrumphed, "Rotten timing."

"On screen, Odessa," said Emoni, ignoring the senior chief.

The viewscreen blinked and showed the aging face of Commander Henry Grayum, the captain of the Apollo-class light cruiser USS _Agamemnon_. "This is Hank Grayum calling _Dallas_. Come in, _Dallas_."

Commander Lau smiled into the visual pickups of the main viewscreen, "Look what the cat dragged in."

Hank chuckled briefly, before putting on an air of mock anger, "After we come all this way to rescue you?"

"You're a day late and a dollar short, Hank. We dispatched our pursuers with no help from you," she accused, pointing a finger at the older Starfleet officer. Emoni was not truly upset, in fact she was a few moments away from losing her composure and collapsing in laughter. The entire ordeal, the stress, and the resulting conversation across space were beginning to express themselves through her sense of humor.

Captain Grayum's image smirked, "Then I guess you won't be needing an escort back to Federation space."

"Oh, well, if you feel it's necessary…" she trailed off, waving at the screen with her hand.

The rest of the crew within the auxiliary control center wore expressions of amusement on their faces, with the exception of Ken. If anything, his expression clearly stated that he was far from amused as he could possibly get. The rapport between Captain Grayum and the woman he had been intimate with began to unnerve him. He felt threatened by this man, despite his age, and the casual nature by which he addressed her. Insult her, will he? Make light of their situation, will he? Not while he has anything to say about it. But then, he could not bring himself to say a word to interrupt their conversation. It was not his place to lay claim to her, or her relationships to others. He tried desperately to win over his emotions with the cold logic of reality, and continued to listen to the exchange.

Hank rose from his seat and performed a sweeping bow for the viewscreen, "It would be my extreme pleasure and privilege, milady." He winked at her before addressing his helmsman, "Ed, take up formation with the _Dallas_. We'll escort her to Starbase 375, where I'm sure Billy Ross will be more than happy to see them."

"More than happy," she repeated. "I doubt that, but that's a conversation for later. What say we get together for dinner tonight, and discuss old times?" Emoni said in a rather sultry tone, or was it merely Ken's imagination?

Regardless, his felt his cheeks grow warm, and the goosebumps form across his skin. His rage was tightly contained underneath his suddenly icy demeanor. It was all he could do to maintain his composure when he heard the response from the viewscreen.

"It's a date. I'll bring the wine," Hank winked again. "_Agamemnon_, out."

The main viewscreen returned to show that the vessel approaching was a Federation design. By the time it circled around to take up formation at high warp, Ken's anger had subsided, and all that was left was the pain of knowing that in spite of all of the time they had spent in her quarters, sharing meals, exchanging ideas, becoming intimate in both mind and body, meant nothing to her. In his mind, he felt as though she had reached into his chest and removed his heart with little regard for him. It was then that he wanted so much to do nothing more than to run from the auxiliary control center and retire to his quarters. His quarters, which had not seen his presence but for a change of clothes and a quick shower every day over the last three months, would see him for a good long while, he had decided. At the earliest opportunity, Lieutenant Kenneth Ushiyama would seek out Admiral William Ross, and request a transfer from _Dallas_.

Emoni regarded Ken curiously as she ended the communication with Hank Grayum and turned around to face him, noticing that he had suddenly become very quiet and very still. She thought she had witnessed his hands trembling against the tactical console, but decided that perhaps it was her eyes playing tricks on her. Ken Ushiyama had been her rock through one of the toughest missions this crew had faced down since the Dominion war began over a year ago. Through all of the difficult times she endured on a personal level, he had been her friend and confidant. As an executive officer, she had never felt such trust and devotion from anyone, despite their intimacy. She saw the advantages to having an officer like Ken serving under her command, and she decided then and there that when she spoke with Admiral Ross, she would recommend him for promotion to lieutenant commander. Soon after, if the war let up, she might consider the future on a personal level with the young man. Now was not the time for any of that, not when so much was at stake. She was sure that he understood that.

After all they had been through together with this crew and this ship, how could she imagine the next mission without him?


End file.
